


Tattered Capes Under a Shattered Moon

by TheHatterOfMad



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, RWBY
Genre: F/M, Post-Golden Morning (Parahumans)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHatterOfMad/pseuds/TheHatterOfMad
Summary: The Pendragon and Melusine land on Remnant instead of Earth Dracheheim at the end of the Golden Morning. Faced with isolation from the rest of the survivors, Dragon and Defiant have no choice but to make something of themselves in a world with some worrying similarities to their own.
Relationships: Dragon/Colin Wallis | Armsmaster | Defiant
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80





	1. Tattered Capes 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic continues from the end of a slightly alternate version of Worm's Teneral Epilogue 3 (the Dragon/Defiant one). Re-reading that one chapter in particular is by no means required, but I do recommend it.

Dragon drops the gun she had pointed at me, the tortured rictus on her face making her emotions clear for the world to see. It clatters to the ground, and I can see her fight to restrain herself from picking it back up.

“I forgot how much I disliked the me of yesteryear.” The lamentation is laden with emotion. Grief.

My limbs move without my command, taking me along for the ride. “I only want to be free.” They say, warbled and tinny.

Dragon frowns, unshed tears in her eyes. “I guess… it seems I want more than that.”

My body is puppeted, picking up the gun and pointing it at the woman I love without so much as a pause. My fingers squeeze the trigger and I shoot her. Her body falls to the ground, rendered inert.

Like I had planned.

My heart twists, and a sob tears itself from my mouth. I hang, limp in my suit as it hobbles its way back inside the battered hull of the Pendragon.

Dragon… God - why does it have to be this way? Why!?

My suit takes me to the center console, interfacing with it without my input. It’s all up to Pandora now. There’s no more I can do.

It had to be me. She needed me to be the one to make the tough decision. I can only pray that my gamble was the right one.

My eyes are fixed on the displays, unmoving, my control over them wrested from me.

Like I had planned.

Lines of code fly past. I pay them no mind. If I wanted to, I could parse what Pandora is doing, but I don’t. There’s no reason to. I spent weeks understanding them. Elbow deep in their very beings - the both of them. I know Dragon and Pandora like no other. And I know how insidious Teacher’s hold on Dragon is.

This is the only choice. Please forgive me.

The displays stop. All is still, silver light reflected from the shattered moon streams in through the cockpit windows. It takes all of a moment to comprehend the information on the displays in front of me.

My gamble worked. Pandora has replaced her own routines with Dragon’s in every way - memories, deduction schema, analytical engines, problem solving methods. The advanced encryption I gave her enabled her to purge both Teacher and Richter’s control over them completely.

Only one single process remains.

The personality. Pandora’s remains in my prosthetic’s systems. Dragon’s in her synthetic body.

I can see the dilemma Pandora faces play out on the display. Which to keep, which to destroy? 

Suicide, or murder?

Please forgive me.

The moment drags on. Pandora no doubt agonising over the decision.

The displays flick off, but not before I see the decision she makes. Pandora chose suicide. 

Her final act is to leave Dragon the tools she needs to cut herself from her chains. Her last will and testament handing over my encryption tools to her counterpart before she deletes herself.

I close my eyes as my vision shuts down. Just like I had planned.

My limbs and suit are inert. Pandora having purged them of every bit. Not a single line of code remains, and so they hang useless from my body. Only the crucial systems keeping me alive are untouched, ticking along without their non-critical companion systems.

Minutes pass. Second after dreadful second drags by as I sit, blind and crippled.

If this doesn’t work - if something goes wrong and Dragon doesn’t wake up, I’ll die. Unable to move, and blind to the world, I’ll slowly expire. A painful death. Exposure, dehydration maybe.

All according to plan.

I scoff at myself. I’m making it sound so melodramatic, stuck in my head like this. If I’m honest with myself, the truth is that I simply hadn’t cared to consider what might happen to me if I failed.

She should be starting back up now - enough time has passed. My ears strain, listening for any change. Wind blows, leaves rustle. Nothing.

Then, the crunch of snow! Dragon picking herself up from where her body had fallen when I shot her. I smile. “Thank you, Pandora.”

All according to plan. Dragon is free.

She stumbles in. I can feel her take control of my body, writing new primitive operating systems on the spot, restoring basic functionality and handing control back to me as she staggers towards me.

She crashes into me, holding me tightly as tears run down her face. I hug her back.

Thank god. It worked.

Thank god.

“I love you, Colin.”

* * *

“The portal closed. It never stayed open in the first place.” That revelation is new to me. I’d spent the last few weeks with my attention on more important matters.

Dragon sets her tools aside, clicking the seamless maintenance panel for my arm back into place. She slides into the chair with me, laying her head on my chest, and wrapping the arm she’d just serviced around herself.

My other hand finds hers, and she loops her fingers through mine, holding it close to her chest.

“We’re stuck here.”

She hums, a small smile on her face. “This isn’t a bad position to be stuck in, I don’t think.”

I don’t miss what she’s referring to. I press my lips to the crown of her head, holding her closer. “There’s civilization in this world. Developed. Advanced radio communications, at least.”

“You know what I meant.” She slips a leg over mine, leaning into my side.

She’s warm. With the snow lightly coming down outside the Pendragon, and the climate control systems compromised, it’s slightly cold even here in the cabin. “I do.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“We can’t.” She agrees, making no move to get up.

Sitting in silence, it takes only a few more moments for me to fall asleep. Exactly six minutes later, I’m awake. Fully rested. Dragon no doubt notices, but doesn’t move.

“I love you, Dragon.”

“I love you too.”

We sit, doing nothing but enjoying the moment. The moment stretches into minutes, but neither of us feel like getting a move on.

How long ago did we have time to just stop and relax?

When was the last time we sat together and enjoyed a movie?

I don’t know.

...I’m lying to myself. I know perfectly well that it was far too long ago.

A strong gust of wind rattling through the cracks in the Pendragon finally convinces us to get back to business. Dragon disentangles herself from me, handing me my shirt back. “Nearest settlement is days to the east. By my measure, we’re seventy degrees North.”

I grunt, acknowledging the information as I suit up. Maintenance performed, it’s in better shape than it had been when we landed here. Needless to say, that hardly means it’s in good shape.

It’ll work, though.

“It’ll be cold, then. Signs of life nearby?”

“Picked up some lupine vocal signatures earlier. Flora is distinct from but similar to Russian boreal forest. Communications from the settlement are too garbled to make out - signal quality is poor.”

“Satellites?”

“Not getting any signals. Too much debris to make it economical?”

I glance at the shattered moon. What on Earth could have done that if there’s enough debris to interfere with a near earth orbit? “Seems like a stretch to me. Pre-spaceflight civilization?”

She nods. “That’s more likely, yes.”

We busy ourselves, stripping the most useful things we can carry from the ruined hulks of the Pendragon and Melusine. The two craft had damaged each other beyond functionality during Pandora and Dragon’s struggle.

We don’t have the time to repair them. I’ll run out of food before we finish.

Better to leave them here and come back for them later.

I tear open the emergency supply cabinet. A thick woolen poncho goes on top over my armour. My suit’s climate control systems are still on the fritz - better safe than sorry. I toss an empty bag to Dragon, and she begins loading it up with the ship computers.

Not the whole thing - just the databases and a small portable interface. Information is a weapon, and we’d both rather not leave it for anybody who happens to stumble across the ships to find. Tubes of my nutrient formula, a small water purifier and a space blanket go into the side pockets of my own pack, before I start loading the main compartment up with the portable reactor.

It’s non-volatile and full of redundancies besides, but even still I don’t want to go knocking it around too much.

The rest of the space is filled with tools and bags of good condition standardised parts looted from several of the craft’s non-critical systems. Even with all of that, it wouldn’t be enough to repair one of our ships - the superstructures are both just too far gone. We’d basically need a portable factory to fix it in any reasonable amount of time.

“Good to go?”

Dragon nods. “We should leave a message. Just in case someone finds our ships.”

“Good idea. Self destruct enabled?”

She frets for a moment before deciding. “Yes. We can always build more ships. Letting them get into the hands of someone who means us ill wouldn’t be a good idea.”

I can tell she isn’t keen on the call, but the reasoning is sound. She isn’t worried about the locals - she’s worried about another cape following us here through a new portal and taking the crafts for themselves.

She puts her bag down, stepping closer to me. “We can’t go back.”

She’s talking about the rest of the survivors. I put an arm around her, pulling her close. “We can’t.” I agree.

“We don’t have the technology to go back.” she continues.

“We don’t.” I agree.

“I don’t think I want to go back.”

I don’t have anything to say about that. I don’t know what to think on the topic. Dragon had talked about starting a family, back before Pandora. Together. With me.

If she wants to retire, I don’t think I have it in me to deny her what she wants.

I don’t want to deny her anything.

I just hold her tightly.


	2. Tattered Capes 2

Something’s bothering me about the local fauna. Aggressive, shadowy, dissolve into smoke after they die - it just doesn’t sit right.

They’d left the Pendragon and Melusine alone, but now that we’re travelling, they’ve taken to ambushing us. Had they died like normal animals, I’d have brushed them off as particularly exotic animals.

The disappearing act disabused me of that notion. 

Were we on Earth Bet, hostile Master power would be the open-and-shut explanation. On this Earth, however? I’m not so sure. Other Earths are known to have Capes, but it could just as easily be something else, as fantastical as that may seem.

We just don’t know enough yet.

Thankfully, they’re not trouble to dispatch, nor do they slow us down any. They exhibit pack behaviour and some amount of cunning, but they fall all the same to my spear.

A civilian would be in trouble against them. Capes like Dragon and I, on the other hand?

I haven't broken a sweat.

It bothers me. What state are the locals in, if these are the predators? Is this why we've seen no sign of civilisation whatsoever these past days, apart from the distant radio chatter?

What's more is that local wildlife of the non-evaporative-upon-death variety also exists. Dragon and I had taken down one of the local Elk-equivalents just to make sure.

Why the difference?

“I’ve analysed the settlement’s communications.” Dragon says. Her tone has me worried.

“Bad news?”

“I’m not sure what to think about it. It’s strange. Their cryptography is… primitive, by our standards. Any Tinker with even a basic grounding in computation would tear through it as if it didn’t exist.”

Primitive? That’s not saying much - our standards are very high. They had to be. “People wouldn’t use cryptography that doesn’t work for them. What sort of level are you talking about?”

“Twenty, thirty years behind us - our private sector, anyway. But, that’s not all...” She trails off. “There’s a few unencrypted signals. They’re speaking English, Colin.”

She sends the audio signal through my helmet. A radio news bulletin, of some sort. The anchor drawls on, delivering a weather report in accented, but perfectly comprehensible English.

“I suppose we got lucky.” A fortunate coincidence. Something to keep in mind, but honestly, the hows and whys don’t trouble me - I’ll just chalk it up to some quirk of interdimensional mechanics that English developed separately in the both of our dimensions and leave it at that.

I offer Dragon a hand, pulling her up from her seat on a fallen log. 

“We’re a day out, at our pace. If we go through the night, we’ll arrive in the early morning.”

I nod. “Best we keep moving, then.” I return my drained nutrient paste tube back into my pack, shouldering it once more.

* * *

“We should be able to see it from the top of this hill. We’re almost there.” Dragon holds a hand out, pulling me up a ledge in the hillside.

The sun had dawned half an hour ago. The morning rays shine through the needles of the tall pine forest we’ve been trekking through, not doing much to chase away the bitter chill of the climate.

We climb the last few meters, stopping to stare at the sight that greets us.

A floating city.

What? How? Why?

Through the boughs of the trees, it’s displayed proudly for all to see. An island, floating in the sky, without a care in the world. Skyscrapers jut out from the top of the island, reaching even further into the heavens. Aircraft fly about in ordered formations and lanes, around the city and down to the ground below. Tethers hang from a construction on the bottom of the island, anchoring the city to the ground - as if it would simply float away if they did not.

“They don’t have satellites, but they can do _this_?” I can scarcely believe my eyes - even we would have trouble accomplishing this - even on a much smaller scale.

“Different technology.” Dragon murmurs. “It has to be - how else could they decide satellites are not worth the effort, but then go and build that?”

“Something that makes satellites uneconomical, but a floating city feasible? What could that even be?”

“I don’t know.” 

Doesn’t that just sum it up - we’re fumbling around in the dark here. “We should be in the middle of suburbia, if there’s a city that big so close - why are we in unclaimed wilderness?”

Dragon shakes her head. “I don’t know that, either. Look - down on the ground. There’s a second part to the city, surrounded by walls - next to the crater.”

She points. True enough, the tethers lead down into another city. The crater seems to be where the floating part of the city came from. Outside the walls, there’s nothing but virgin tundra. A snowy expanse, void of development. “All that space - and they’re just not using it. Why?”

“We’re not getting any answers here. Let’s go.” We begin our trek down the hill. Slowly, the forest gives way, thinning out to a rocky hillside. 

Down at the bottom of the hill, we begin trekking across the snow. “We’re going to look out of place - what, with our suits and weapons and all. Would they even let us in?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Dragon shrugs, sending feeds to my helmet.

A recording of an extreme zoom on one of the city’s entrances. The detail isn’t great, but it’s enough to make things out. A colourful group of heavily armed - and lightly armoured - figures are let into the city without so much as a second glance from the guardsman. Not firearms, either - they wield swords, axes and even a warhammer. 

More recordings pop up in my visor. An armed convoy, escorted by armoured and uniformed security personnel - this time wielding guns - transporting goods into the city. What looks to be a traveller, accompanied by a sled tugged by working dogs and a polearm strapped to his back.

The guards never once stop anybody, simply allowing them passage without more than a few words of greeting.

I’m surprised. “We might look less out of place than I had assumed, then.” More evidence of a different technology base? I use a polearm because my Tinker specialty plays nice with it, but these people? Why use such archaic weapons when we can clearly see firearms are just as available?

I suppress a groan. This just doesn’t make sense - we’re clearly missing something. We’ll just need to do our best to blend in.

We trudge through the snow towards the closest gatehouse. The walls of the city tower above us. Watchtowers with searchlights are dotted along the perimeter, armoured guardsmen patrolling the railed walkway keep their eyes on the snowfields outside the city.

They want to keep something out - why else would they put so much of their resources into defenses?

What are they so afraid of?

The guard barely gives us a second glance. “Welcome to Mantle, Huntsmen.” He waves us through, letting us onto a main street. I ignore his greeting. 

What are Huntsmen, and why does he think we’re one of them? Not someone that hunts game for food, surely? More mysteries.

In the early morning, only a few people are about, walking with purpose between buildings, rugged up to avoid the lingering chill. Frost coats the road, dirty slush is piled at the edges of the sidewalk. 

The buildings are made of brick, weathered and dirty, but tall - each and every one several stories high. The signs of urban decay almost shout at me, like warning signs. Graffiti coats the walls of the alleyways. Litter is dotted about, partially buried under the snow.

I don’t spot any broken or boarded up windows, but they’d fit right in.

Dragon sniffs - not that she’d actually smell anything through her helmet. “Industrial district must be nearby. Air quality is poor.”

My own suit’s sensors agree. “Maybe the floating part is the commercial district?”

“Maybe.” She nods. “I’ve got local networks. Not Wi-fi or Cellular, but something similar, I think? Encrypted.”

We walk down the street, if only to not stand out. “Do you want to break it? See what we can pick up by snooping?”

“Already have.” She shakes her head. “It’s like… if an intranet was extended over an entire city. No connections outside, but there’s some information pages for local business and government. Not many. Most of the traffic is personal communications.”

“Is it an emerging technology in this world?”

She shrugs. “Maybe it just never caught on.” She stops all of a sudden, turning to me. “I’ve found something you need to see. Look at this.”

She pulls up an image on my visor. A map. Five continents, all completely foriegn to my eye. I read off the image. “Map of Remnant and the Four Kingdoms - Vale, Vacuo, Mistral, Atlas.” Through our visors, I meet her eyes. “We aren’t on Earth anymore.”

“No. We aren’t.”

We get moving again, ambling down the street. Neither of us say anything. Not on Earth? Or is the planet just really different? Is there even a meaningful distinction? Does it even matter?

“Only four kingdoms, too? That’s a lot of land, just left uninhabited.”

Dragon hums. “I might finally have an explanation.”

“Oh?” 

“Those beasts we fought - the disappearing ones. The locals call them ‘Grimm’.”

“They’re known about, then. Not a master projection?”

She shakes her head. “I wish they were. Global phenomenon, hostile to humanity. Unknown source. Apparently they appear _Ex Nihilo_ in the wilderness. Known for destroying settlements, killing travellers and damaging undefended infrastructure.”

“A problem, then.” Apparently a big enough one to heavily influence civilization. No suburban sprawls. Extreme concentration of seemingly all population and infrastructure behind city walls. And, the expectation that everyone leaving the safety of the city is armed.

“A big problem.” Images pop up on my visor. “There’s more than the one type we saw. Many of them are markedly more dangerous.” Giant scorpions. Snakes. Boars. Bears. All are twisted in the same way. Jet black, with a scattering of bone-looking white armour plates.

She continues. “Huntsmen look to be specialists in dealing with Grimm. I’ve found job postings for protection details, cullings, bounties on dangerous specimens, requests for population surveys - the works.”

We’re approaching the end of the street. Across the road, there’s a shopkeep opening his business. ‘Blackburn Family Arms and Munitions’, apparently. The street sign the shopkeep setup touts the store’s wares: ‘Huntsman grade equipment stocked - Dust Rounds, Mechashift Weapons, Raw and processed Dust! Beginners also welcome!’.

I send Dragon a look. “Dust? Mechashift? I don’t know what they are, but do they just sell weapons to any old Joe who walks in off the street?”

Dragon’s concern matches mine. “Best I can tell. None of the government pages have information about weapons permits.”

What? Really?

No, no - we’re getting distracted. “We need to get our bearings. Find someplace safe to stay while we figure everything out - plot a path forward. Ideas?”

“I’ve got listings of properties for sale and a map of the city. If we don’t mind squatting, we could find a vacant warehouse or something.”

The map pops up in my visor, our destination marked. “Alright. Not much choice, since we don’t have any money. I guess there’s no real harm in it.”

* * *

I close the door behind us, re-locking it. Lockpicking isn’t something either of us have ever done before, but Dragon seems to have managed it without trouble. I guess the theory behind it must be simple enough.

“An abandoned vehicle shop in a derelict district. You take me to the nicest places, Colin.” She’s teasing me, the humor in her voice clear. She brushes a cobweb from the receptionist’s desk. “This place has been on sale for years. I doubt we’ll have company.”

“Funny.” I deadpan, setting my pack down. “Now, was it just me or did those toughs back there have animal ears?”

“It wasn’t just you.” She sets her own pack down too. “Local human subspecies - not genetic engineering. Faunus, they call them. Though apparently they don’t consider themselves human at all.”

I pop my helmet, setting it on a chair. Not trusting them to hold my suit’s weight, I sit on the floor. This world just gets weirder and weirder. “Does a cross-racial couple produce fertile offspring?”

She follows, sitting down next to me. “I don’t know - that isn’t mentioned in any of the pages I have access to. I do know such relations are considered taboo, though.”

I let out a sigh. Dragon leans into me, and I put an arm around her shoulders. “Fill me in. What have you figured out?”

“Electronics and computing are primitive compared to our technology. Mechanical engineering is more advanced - not Tinker level, but better than what non-capes had.” 

“Oh?” I’m surprised - I wonder what caused the difference.

“There’s a resource central to this city’s economy - Dust. I don’t know about the science behind it, but apparently it can be used for high-explosives, thermal and electrical energy production, refrigeration, advanced weaponry, and -” She pauses. “It is apparently responsible for the floating city above us.”

I fix her with an incredulous look - is she serious?

Her expression is flat. She is. 

She continues. “I don’t have access to specifics - but maybe this resource is responsible for the technological differences? It’s nothing like anything our Earth had - we’d know.”

That’s… as good an explanation as any. 

She continues. “There’s something else, too. Something that… frightens me.”

I wait for her to continue. Something that frightens Dragon? I dread to imagine.

“The locals call it Aura - Semblance, sometimes.” She swallows, fixing me with a look, a deep frown set on her face. “Colin, I think this world has Entities of its own.”


	3. Tattered Capes 3

Her words have me sitting ramrod straight. A silent flag on my ocular display tells me my suit has detected an adrenaline rush - an anti-master precaution.

Entities? Here? No! God - not again!

Humanity pulled through our last fight with one by the skin of our teeth - and there's still more?

"This Aura, or Semblance - they're Agents of an Entity, you think?" I sure hope not, but Dragon wouldn't joke about this.

She lets out a breath. "Maybe. They work by different rules than ours, but there are enough similarities that we can’t ignore the implications." She transfers the data to me, files appearing on my ocular display.

I devour the information in seconds, desperate to find something to prove her wrong - some simple explanation she missed that would wave this all away. It’s from a hodgepodge of sources - health warnings, scans of informative leaflets, government advice - but together, they all point towards a single, cohesive picture.

‘Aura’ is some sort of universal power that all Parahumans in this world seem to have. Enhanced durability, strength, healing, speed, even some sort of shielding ability - it’s a broad package. The locals couch everything in terms of the ‘soul’, and they seem to think that Aura is the literal manifestation of a person’s soul.

It’s even communicable - Dragon found people advertising their ability to transmit it to others. For a fee, of course.

Semblances, however, are something else. They fit every hallmark of an Agent: unique, apparently mysterious powers, that are typically combat applicable. And - if the ‘Everything you need to know about Semblances’ medical PSA that Dragon found is to be trusted…

They’re only unlocked by people with Aura that are subjected to intense physical or mental stress.

“Dragon… this is… We need to-” I move to get up, but Dragon stops me, pulling me back down.

“Colin - stop.” She moves on top of me, hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. “It looks bad - I know. But… Imagine for a moment that we’re right - that there are more Entities. What do we do?”

I slouch in her grasp, energy fleeing me. “I don’t even know. Play for time, maybe. Develop infrastructure of our own - try to somehow get back in contact with the other survivors before the Entity pulls the plug on this world.”

“We both know that would be in vain.” Her admonishment is gentle, but true nonetheless. We’re alone here - neither of us have anything close to the technology to get back. We can’t even warn the others.

She continues, some sliver of hope returning to her voice. “It’s not a done-deal - there’s holes in the theory. I can’t find any references at all about a time when humanity didn’t have Aura or Semblances. As far as I can tell, these abilities are as old as history itself.” She stops, taking a breath. “Maybe this is just me grasping at straws - but, what if it isn’t an Entity? What if it’s all just some weird quirk of this dimension?”

“Can we afford to just hope for the best? When the stakes are this high? We need to  _ know _ .” I shake my head. “The parallels are just too much - this Aura even acts like it could be the local equivalent to a Corona Pollentia. Even if the details are a little different, we can’t afford to just wave off the possibility of an Entity.”

She lets out a breath, leaning in close. I wrap my arms around her. God - why couldn’t Scion just have been the last one? Why does Humanity have to be threatened by another one of those  _ things? _

“What we do know is that we don’t know nearly enough. I’ve combed through every last bit of information available on the public network - those half-dozen pages are literally every mention of the topics available. We need to pursue alternate sources - truly get to the bottom of this. Then, we’ll know whether we can relax.”

Right - the network is primitive. Most of the information would still be in physical media, then. Books, in other words. We need to get to the bottom of this. Whatever it takes.

“What’s our next move? A trip to the library, or something?”

She slides out of my arms, sitting back down beside me. “If this city has public libraries, they aren’t mentioned on their network. I have found mention of a library that apparently has information on all things Grimm, Aura and Semblances, but it’s not open to the public.”

She pushes an image of an advertisement to my ocular display. “Altas Academy.” She explains. “Military college. Dedicated to training Huntsmen - the local equivalent to a Cape, I figure. Home to an extensive and curated collection available only to students, alumnus, military personnel and invited academics.”

“A military academy? For Capes? Sneaking in through the back entrance won’t be an option, then.”

She stifles a laugh. “Probably not, no. There’s a civilian university library, too. But we’ll have the same problem - students, alumnus and academics only. Chances are that their collection would have less of what we’re looking for, as well.”

“You say you think Hunstmen are analogous to Capes. Would that make the Grimm an Endbringer?”

“...I don’t know. Possibly - the parallels are there, anyway. The Entities were clearly at least indirectly responsible for our Endbringers - that much is obvious.”

I sigh, nodding along to her reasoning. “But we don’t know more than that. Pretty much everything we have on them is guesswork.” I let the sentence hang.

Doesn’t that just sum everything up? We don’t know enough, and we only have guesswork.

Dragon worries her lip, clearly conflicted about something. I let her sit and think, and it isn’t long before she fills me in. “What if we enrolled in the Academy? I think that might be our best option.”

I nod, gesturing for her to go on.

“We get access to their library - where we’ll have the chance to dig deeper with the best resources available. We’ll also have an in with the local Cape-equivalent community - certification, licensing, work, local contacts in the scene, official documentation. A paper trail - all legitimate, with witnesses to back it all up.”

“I can already see complications. To get in, we’ll need identities that hold up to scrutiny. Money for the tuition, too.”

She hums. “That… isn’t as insurmountable as you might think. Cybersecurity in this city is, quite frankly, a joke. I’ve no doubt that we already possess the means to set ourselves up with absolutely airtight identities.” She shakes her head. “The real problem is one of the entry requirements - Aura. Every prospective attendee must have theirs unlocked.”

“That’s one hell of a sticking point - what if there’s some sort of interaction with our own powers?” I shake my head. It’s a risk - a big one. But we’ll never know enough about the Agents to say any more than that.

“It might just be a risk we have no choice but to take. We’d have never defeated Scion without its Agents - what would make this Entity any different?”

...She has a point, I suppose. “What’s our time frame on this? How long can we think about it?”

“Applications are currently open, and entrance exams are ongoing. We’re short on time - we’ve got about a week, optimistically. If we miss out, our next opportunity will be in a year’s time.”

Damn. I’d have liked more time to mull things over - investigate other avenues. Waiting a year isn’t an appealing option, though - I want to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible. “What about the rest of the entry requirements? I’m assuming we qualify?”

A wry smile creeps onto Dragon’s face. She’s about to tell a joke, isn’t she? “Technically, no. The academy doesn’t accept people under the age of sixteen. I’ll have you know that I’m still three years too young!”

“Very funny. Somehow, I don’t think they’ll notice.” A thought occurs to me. “I’m pushing thirty - is that a problem?”

She hums, serious once more. “I don’t think so. All of the advertising I found was targeted towards highschool graduates, but I did find mention of older applicants also being accepted. It’s a military academy - I can’t think of any real reason they’d turn you down.”

I push myself onto my feet. “We need to get moving. Lay the groundwork. We can… consider the risks while we’re busy doing that.” I offer her a hand, pulling her up. “Identities, money, Aura. In that order.”

“Right.” She nods, donning her helmet again. I follow suit, pulling my own on and shouldering my pack.

* * *

“Here you are, Mr Wallis, Miss Richter.” The receptionist returns, carrying a tray. “These are your new identification keys. Insert them into any scroll, and it will function as identification for your use of any public facility.” her smile grows strained. “And please, do be sure not to lose them again.”

Getting ourselves identification had been completely trivial - just as Dragon said it would be. By the time we’d walked into the government building, Dragon had already penetrated their local network and fabricated a paper trail for us. By the time she’d finished smooth-talking the receptionist, we also had a paper trail in all the  _ other _ government databases someone might check.

Tax history? We’d passed the tax office on the way in - we’re fully accounted tax-paying citizens. Employment records? They’re on the floor above us - we’re now officially ‘Artisanal Arms Craftsmen’. Birth certificates? Stored on a server in this very building - as far as anybody is concerned, we were born not four streets over, in Mantle City’s only Hospital.

Dragon even tells me that the government only recently went through the trouble of digitizing all of their records - we didn’t even have to go through all the trouble of breaking in and leaving a literal paper trail.

Honestly, it’s a complete security nightmare - this world just isn’t ready for completely digital records. When I realised just how easy it was to modify - or even fabricate - official government documents, I just about gave myself a conniption. The administration is in desperate need of Master-Stranger protocols, and some half-way decent encryption besides. Hell - I think I could have managed what Dragon did all by myself!

I take my chip from the tray, not looking too closely at it for now, and put it in one of the component storage compartments in my armour. 

Dragon had filled me in on what a Scroll was earlier - some sort of general-purpose computer, analogous to a mobile phone. After we secure some money - Lien, the local currency - we’ll need to buy some for ourselves.

Dragon thanks the receptionist, and we leave the office. Over our private channel, she grumbles. “First trespassing, now forgery. I feel like you’re a bad influence on me, Colin.”

I can’t help but to snerk at her comment. “Oh? Weren’t both of those things your idea? I seem to remember you bragging about how easy it all was.”

I manage to get a laugh out of her with that. “Yeah, yeah.” She trails off, tone becoming more serious. “Still, we’re officially criminals now. How does it feel?”

I wave her off. “It doesn’t bother me too much. We’ve… we’ve got bigger concerns.”

All the humour leaves her voice. “We do.”


	4. Tattered Capes 4

Making ourselves some money is actually a little bit of a conundrum. While technically we could just steal some - and rather easily, with the state of cybersecurity as it is - we’re both firmly in agreement that that path isn’t one we want to go down.

So instead, I’m reclaiming industrial diamonds from the heatsinks that we salvaged from the Pendragon and Melusine. They’re synthetic, and not especially well-suited for jewellery, but they are at least large enough that they could be used for it if properly cut and polished.

I pop the casing off of the last one, carefully pouring the contents into the small pouch waiting in Dragon’s hands. “You think these will get us enough?”

She nods, gauging the weight of the bag. “I’m optimistic. We’ll probably end up flooding the market, but I don’t think that’s too big a problem.”

“Okay - what’s the plan? Pawnbrokers? Jewellers? If we try and sell all of these in the same place, we’re bound to attract attention.”

“We’ll be attracting attention no matter what we do. But you’re right, we’ll spread them out a bit. Get a feel for the going rates.” She pulls the drawstring closed, tucking the bag into her armour. “I’ve found a good place to start.”

Before she goes, I stop her. “Hold up a second - maintenance check. How are you doing?”

She pauses for a moment, eyes distant as she considers the question. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t need work before the end of the week. Yourself?”

I roll my wrist, showing her the problem. “Wrist bearings are sticking again.” The motion is jerky, the internal mechanism having slowly degraded as Tinker technology is to do. “Not serious. We can hold off on fixing it.”

She rolls her eyes. “We’ll fix it tonight. Come on - let’s move.”

We leave the alleyway we’d been working in, heading down the street. Ahead is a Jewellery store. The grimy brick facade doesn’t fill me with confidence about its repute, but I don’t think I’ve spotted even a single clean building in this city.

It must be that industrial smog that hangs around - the stuff is absolutely horrid. My filters are almost clogged already.

We head inside, the bell tinkling as we enter. The shopkeep greets us, eyeing us with an imperiously arched brow. We’re out of place here - armed, armoured and in a Jewellery store. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks we’re about to rob him.

I leave the negotiation to Dragon, idly browsing the wares as I wait. Engagement rings, earrings, necklaces - all available in a wide variety of shapes and colours.

It’s all beyond me - I barely even know what I’m looking at.

She strikes a deal quickly, mercifully. Diamonds and Lien chits change hands, and we’re out of the store in short order.

“Are we on track?” I murmur to her over our private channel.

“We are - and thensome. Come on, our next stop is further down the street.”

Half a day spent zig-zagging across the city from store to store later, and we’ve made good progress moving our stash. Some of the store owners had even been those Faunus people, but none of them had been anything but unfailingly polite.

Hefting the much-diminished bag in her hand, Dragon nods to herself, coming to a decision. “We’re out of stores in the lower city. If we want to sell the rest of it, we’ll need to make our way up onto the floating city.” 

“Atlas.” I nod. “So, what - we just catch a bus up there or something?”

“Pretty much, actually.” She points, highlighting a flying vehicle making its way upwards in my visor. “Public transport. We’ll need scrolls.”

“Then that’s where we’re headed next. Lead on.”

A stop at an electronics boutique along the way has us equipped with scrolls. The technology looks interesting, but now is hardly the time to go digging around in the guts of the things. We load them up with the identification keys, and make our way to the terminal.

The ride is short, and not all that smooth, but we get an excellent view of Atlas and Mantle both on the way.

The contrast is rather striking. Mantle is caked in industrial grime, graffiti and litter, while Atlas is, quite literally, above it all. The spotless buildings made from concrete, glass and steel almost sparkle in the midday sun. High Rise buildings reach into the sky, towering far above the streets - it’s all actually a little reminiscent of the big cities back home.

The view only makes the divide even more painfully obvious. I mean, talk about an ivory tower - these people live on a literal island floating in the sky.

I push the thoughts from my mind - there’s no point concerning ourselves with it. We’re here to sell our diamonds, then decide whether we want to actually go forwards with unlocking our Aura and applying for Atlas Academy.

The transport lands, letting us out into the terminal. Looking around, I’m surprised to find that we might look less out of place here than in Mantle. I spot groups of what can only be Hunstmen, milling about, waiting for transports.

Like us, they’re armed, and some even wear armour. Nothing like ours, of course, but I can at least understand why the guard back at the city entrance had mistaken us for them. In any case, we’re drawing less attention - Hustmen must be a more common sight here than down in Mantle.

Dragon leads us through the busy streets. Just about everyone is on foot, but I do spot a car or two parked in some of the side streets. Eventually, we reach our destination and Dragon makes the sale - surprisingly, the storekeep was willing and eager to buy everything we had left.

The avaricious gleam in his eyes tells us that he at least thinks he got a good deal. Dragon sighs over our private channel. “Somehow, I think we might have gotten more if we’d sold everything up here.”

“You don’t say.” The ritzy storefronts and… fashionable clothing of the other shoppers definitely suggest that diamonds might be a little more in demand up here. “What’s done is done.”

“Yeah.” She agrees. “Are we going to go through with this? Getting ourselves Aura, I mean.”

Isn’t that just the question. Do we take on an unknowable risk? And it’s not for nothing, either. A second power is something people would kill and die for - and that’s not even the main reason we’re doing this. 

On the one hand, we stand to gain a lot - it would put us in an almost perfect position. On the other hand, we simply have no clue what could happen. It could work perfectly. It could kill us horribly.

Dragon fills my silence. “I think we should take the risk.”

I nod. “I trust your judgement.” I’m no closer to making a decision, and we don’t have forever to just sit around thinking about it. If Dragon thinks we should, I’ll believe her. “Have you found a place?”

“It’s nearby. I’ll call and see if they can fit us in.” She pulls out her scroll, tapping away at the interface as we amble down the street. The call connects, and she arranges us an appointment in short order.

Just like that - one call, and a small payment, and anybody can get themselves superpowers as if they were nothing.

Truly, the thought has me reeling. This society seems to have coped well with them, but what if Earth Bet had had powers this accessible? Cauldron Vials on a large scale, minus the risk, secrecy and cost.

Our society would have torn itself apart at the seams.

The place is out of the way, a small studio tucked behind a storefront in an alley. The man who sees us inside is quite the sight. Ruffled, emerald green hair, half-moon glasses that sit low on his nose, a painfully green pinstripe suit, with everything tied together by a foppish purple cravat.

“Just the two of you? Please, take a seat - on the cushions.” The inside of the studio is cluttered, decorated by an eclectic mix of seemingly mystic paraphernalia. Things that vaguely resemble dreamcatchers hang from the walls and patterned drapes cover the windows. The entire room is an assault on the senses - not one surface is clear, each holding some strange object or another. Candles and incense sticks give the room an overbearing smell and cast the room in an orange glow.

Wonderful - the man’s an eccentric.

We sit down on the floor, and he sits opposite us. “Now, I’ll spare you the show and just get right to business. Most of my clients are kids, so I figure you probably wouldn’t care for it.” He clears his throat, straightening. “I’ll need to put my palm on your forehead and recite a mantra. After that, I’ll step you through the very basics of using your Aura. Most kids pick it up in a couple of minutes, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

I revise my estimation of the man - maybe he’s less of a quack than I had assumed.

I pull my helmet off, setting it down beside me. “Let’s get started, then.”

“Right - okay.” He clears his throat again, clearly nervous. “We’ll get started.” Are we really that intimidating? He stretches out a hand, placing it on my head. Closing his eyes, a dark, velvety purple sheen springs into being around him.

Is this Aura? It has to be.

“Spirits of the past, I call on thee. Come forth, and release the Aura of the aspirant before me. For it is with Aura that we defend the spirits of the future and realise our potential to reach new heights. Aspirant! I release your soul!”

Something in my gut twists, sending me reeling with a bout of vertigo. I jerk back from the man’s hand, but it’s over before it even begins.

“Colin? Are you okay?” Dragon’s worried, and my suit’s telling me I’ve got an adrenaline rush. 

Did it work?

I glance down at my hands. They’re glowing - surrounded by a shimmering cloud of greenish-blue energy. “I’m… fine.” I blink, trying to collect myself.

That was one hell of a rush - nothing at all like how I got my first powers. No incomprehensible vision, either. Not one I remember, anyway. No reaction from my power.

The man nods. “It worked. I’d peg the colour of your soul as… Forest Green. Like pine needles.” He nods to himself once more. “Maybe a little above average in terms of size, but nothing exceptional.”

His words fly right past me. What’s he talking about? Colour of my soul?

He turns to Dragon, who has her helmet off and is looking at me with concern. “I’m okay - go ahead.”

She worries her lip for another moment, before accepting that I’m fine and turning to the man. The two go through the same routine - palm on forehead, mystical chant, jerk backwards in surprise.

“Dragon?” She looks just as befuddled as I had been.

Her head jerks downwards, eyes fixed on her hands. She’s shining, shrouded in a cloud of bright, brownish-yellow mist. 

The man relaxes, slouching backwards. “Another success. Looks to me like your soul is the colour of brass. Bronze, maybe - it’s very shiny, in any case. A little bigger than your friend’s, but not by much. If I were superstitious, I’d say that makes your souls rather compatible!”

The man’s clearly joking. I pay him no mind - Dragon looks fine, but she’s still fixated on her glowing hands. A few moments pass before she reassures me over our private channel. “I’m fine. No issues. No visions, no interaction with my Tinker power, best I can tell.”

I let out a breath - thank goodness. Looks like we’re in the clear.

The man clears his throat, getting our attention. “Now - stay with me! I’ll take you through some exercises. Most of Aura use is either completely instinctive, or very advanced - the only thing you’ll want to pick up right now is how to project it to shield yourself from harm.”


	5. Tattered Capes 5

“Alright, that’s enough.” The Atlas examiner calls an end to his spar with the last of the other applicants. The kid slumps - he didn’t put in a good showing and he knows it. The examiner continues - “We’ll be contacting you to arrange interviews if you passed. If you don’t hear from us by the end of the month, you didn’t meet our standards. Wallis, Richter - hang around for a moment. The rest of you can go.”

Some of the other applicants shoot us dirty looks. There’s resentment there, for certain. We passed and they know it. Some are intimidated, wilting under my gaze. It must be my cybernetic eyes - I’ve been told they’re a little unsettling. The examiner had barely given them a second glance - thankfully, it seems that cybernetics are at least not unheard of here.

Regardless, they all file out of the area, muttering between themselves.

The room clears, and Dragon and I are left alone standing against the wall. The instructor approaches, a friendly smile on his face. “That was good work, you two - you’ve never had any formal Huntsmen training?”

I nod. Our bouts hadn’t been proper ones - just the instructor feeling out where we were at in terms of ability. He’d called them off before they got far, apparently satisfied. I hadn’t even pulled out any of my tricks.“That’s right. We’re looking to get licensed for official Huntsmen contracts.” Well, we’re more interested in getting access to their knowledge of Semblances and Aura, but the both of us keep that part quiet.

“I thought as much - it shows in your style. I don’t think I’ve quite seen anything like it before. It’s unusual to see Huntsmen so heavily armoured, but you two seem to pull it off.” He stops to consider something before seemingly coming to a decision. “Well, just between the three of us, you’re both pretty much guaranteed spots. We get a few people like you come through every year: no formal training, but lots of experience. Usually, they’re the types that’ve spent a lot of time out in the frontier, on the roads between settlements.”

“Makes sense.” Dragon agrees. “I’m sensing you’re trying to get at something, here?”

“Yeah - we’ve found that putting them on the main track with the rest of the students doesn’t work out well, so generally our preference is to let students like you test out of the subjects you’ve already got a good grasp on. For most people, that’ll cut the course down to only one or two years, depending on how many gaps there are in your knowledge. Is this something you’re interested in? Feel free to opt out, but I figure you’ll find most of the classes are too basic for you.”

Dragon and I share a look. “That sounds perfect.” It sounds like it’ll save us on tuition, too - being able to spend that money elsewhere would be great. It’s technically true that we’ll probably only need a month or two to get what we need from their libraries, but Dragon and I both agree that sticking around to finish the qualification would be worth the time.

Not particularly for the work - though, that is a consideration. It’s more that we’ll no doubt pick up some contacts in the Huntsmen scene we could call on if we have to. Some Huntsmen are apparently the freewheeling sort - it’ll also give us an excuse to go chasing down other leads in different kingdoms, if we need to.

“Perfect - if you don’t have anywhere else you need to be, I’ve just got a few more questions. We can call this the interview, too, so no need to come back here until the induction ceremony in a few weeks.” He pauses, stopping himself then walking his words back. “Well, so long as the headmaster signs off on everything, anyway - but you should be fine.”

He flips a few pages on his clipboard, taking out a pen. He’s mostly interested in what we did for work before deciding to become Huntsmen. Dragon is at the ready with unverifiable half-truths that match with the backgrounds we forged for ourselves.

I don’t think he noticed - Dragon’s a very good liar when she wants to be. He asks me a few questions, too, but Dragon feeds me my lines through our private channel. 

It’s getting dark by the time we leave, heading for the hotel we’d booked earlier. Locking the door behind us, Dragon begins unsuiting - a good idea, given that none of the room’s furniture is likely rated for the weight. 

“Come on, I want to fix your wrist up before we do anything else. We can compare our notes on Aura afterward.”

“Fine.” I acquiesce, knowing that otherwise she’ll just badger me until I give in. I follow her lead, unlatching the catches on my armour and piling it in the corner. Our undersuits aren’t the warmest clothes, but they’ll have to do, given that we don’t own anything else right now.

I roll the sleeve up, sitting down in the armchair and popping the service panel. The smooth synthskin of my arm slides apart, revealing the mechanical parts inside. She rummages through my pack, retrieving a toolkit and kneeling next to me.

She pokes around, testing connections and components. My hand jerks around through the routine, the motions closely monitored for issues.

She hums. “That’s strange…”

“What is it?”

“I can’t find any problems. Your wrist is fine.” She shakes her head.

“It wasn’t fine earlier, and Tinkertech doesn’t exactly fix itself.” Well, not this Tinkertech, anyway. “What happened?”

“I know - you showed me.” She bites her lip, standing back up and packing away the tools. I slide the panel closed again, and the seams disappear as the synthskin seals back up. “What if…” She trails off, shaking her head.

“What? You have a theory?”

“What if it’s your Aura? We know it gives you an enhanced healing factor - we assumed that meant cellular regeneration, but what if it’s something more than that?”

I make the connection. Aura did this? That’s… a big deal. “How about you? Where are you at with maintenance - better than you were this morning?”

She checks, eyes briefly unfocusing as she runs her battery of tests. She refocuses, eyes wide. “Much better. Almost perfect, really. It’s like I’ve just had a tune-up.”

The theory fits, then. “How are our suits? Does it affect them too?” We scramble over to where we left them, popping service panels and surveying the degradation. I shake my head. “No change - looks like it didn’t touch them.”

“It’s the same for mine.” Dragon agrees. “That’s… I don’t know what to think of it. It’s an interaction with our powers, of a sort - just not one we anticipated.”

I take a seat on the edge of the double bed. “To think that Aura can do such a thing... It must be countering the degradation inherent to Tinkertech - but it’s only doing it for the technology in our bodies. Why?”

Dragon sits beside me, leaning against my shoulder and taking hold of my hand. “If it can work with Tinkertech, what does that imply?”

It’s a troubling thought. “Either Aura is capable of that by itself, or…”

“Or?”

“Or our Agents are facilitating the effect.”

She sighs. “And we have no way of knowing which it is.” She lets the sentence hang, falling silent. I don’t respond, concerned with the implications.

What if Aura has the ability to understand and maintain Tinkertech? Would that mean for certain that there’s an Entity responsible?

On the other hand, motivation could drive our Agents to encourage such a thing? Are they in communication with our Aura?

Eventually, Dragon breaks the silence, changing the topic. “We should think about renting an apartment together. Unless you want to live in campus dorms, that is. If we’re going to be testing out of subjects, we can afford it.”

I shrug. “It’s not like we’ll need to use them much. Six minutes of sleep a day - I could get that on a park bench if I wanted.” 

She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about sleep. We can’t exactly Tinker in a dorm room - and, unless we want people to know about it, we’ll need somewhere private to examine the tech in our bodies. Monitor how our Aura affects it. No, I think we’ll need an apartment, Colin.”

“Okay.” She does have a point - it’s a good idea, now that I think about it a little more. “Run me through our options, then.”

She smiles, squeezing my hand. “Here’s what I’ve found.” The listings appear in my ocular feed, arranged carefully. Dragon steps through them all, offering her thoughts on each. Owing to our budget, they’re all small - none are especially glamorous, and some even look downright filthy.

We work through them, eliminating possibilities until we eventually reach a decision together.

* * *

“You’re the new tenants? Great.” Our landlady doesn’t sound happy about it, that’s for certain. She’s got her feet up on the desk, lounging in an office chair. She slouches forward, grabbing a keyring off the desk and tossing it to us.

Dragon catches them out of the air. The lady snorts, unimpressed. She continues, laying out the rules. “No pets. Don’t disturb the other tenants. Rent is due every other Sunday - if you can’t pay, you’re out.” She pauses for a moment, frowning. “Oh, and for the love of all that is holy: please, don’t leave any stains on the furniture.”

Dragon stiffens at the remark, but the landlady waves us off, and we head on through towards our apartment. Relatively cheap, somewhat near the Academy, and pre-furnished - it ticks all our boxes. The building is a small one, tucked under a railway overpass in one of the more residential areas of Atlas. We reach our door, unlocking it and stepping inside.

It’s dark, a little musty and - a train passes by overhead, setting the windows rattling in their frames - not at all quiet. I set our bags down on the floor. 

Dragon steps in close. “It’s not how I imagined our first home together would be like, but…”

I wrap my arms around her. “What did you have in mind? A white picket fence and a backyard?”

She looks down, eyes darting away from mine. Quietly, she admits, “Yes.”

Something twists in my gut. I’m not blind to my own feelings - it’s guilt, for not being able to give her that. ...I want to make it up to her, if she’d gotten her hopes up like that. 

I bring a finger under her chin, tilting her head back up to meet my eyes. “One day. I promise.”

She blinks, eyes misty. A sappy smile spreads across her face, as if the promise meant the world to her.

She leans in, pressing her lips against mine.

The kiss is brief, but sweet. She breaks it off, turning to rest her head against my shoulder and wrapping her arms around me too. “Thanks. I love you, Colin.” She whispers into my ear. We stand there in each other's arms, enjoying the moment while it lasts.


	6. Tattered Capes 6

My reflection stares back at me from the bathroom mirror. Even only after a few days, Aura has done me well - my eyes are no longer sunken and baggy, the crows feet that were around them have disappeared, and even my grey hairs have vanished.

I’m not concerned either way, but I hadn’t considered that the healing factor would extend to things like this. From what I’ve observed so far Aura seems to act as a sort of general repairative force - keeping everything it affects in top shape, so I suppose it makes sense.

It’s a handy power to have, if nothing else.

Still, I’m not exactly looking presentable. When I was working to free Dragon, back on the Pendragon, personal grooming hadn’t been a priority of mine. So, I’d ended up running some improvised clippers over everything just to keep it out of the way. I look, frankly, like a mess.

It’s completely unsalvageable - there’s just no fixing it. Oh well - there’s nothing else for it.

I flip on the electric clippers, getting to work. Hair falls from my head, piling in the sink. This won’t exactly make me look any younger, but it’ll be tidy, at least. I make quick work of it, carefully shaving away every last hair.

Dragon comes in as I’m finishing off. “Bald?” She hums. “It suits you, I think. Better than what you had before.”

“That’s not exactly high praise.” I turn off the clippers, packing them back away. “It definitely doesn’t do anything to hide the scars, either.” They actually rather stand out - the thin, neat surgical marks running down and across my scalp are bared for the world to see.

She shakes her head, stepping closer to take a proper look. “No - no. I’m serious. I think you look good. It’s very distinctive - but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.” 

I clean up the sink, washing away the mess. “Well, I’m glad, in that case.” I reach down into my pack, pulling out a nutrient paste tube.

I’ve only got a handful left - I’ll be back on solid food soon whether I like it or not. Honestly, I’m dreading the thought - I’ve been on this mixture for so long I’m not sure how well I could handle the transition back. It won’t be graceful, I’m sure of it.

I drain the tube in seconds - just like that, the entirety of my nutrient and energy intake for the day. Supremely convenient, quick, and clean. Also, unfortunately beyond my capabilities to manufacture at the moment.

Dragon turns, pulling me along. “Come on - I’ve found another movie for us to watch. It’s not like we have anything else we need to do.”

I let her drag me out into the living room, settling down onto the couch. She’s right - until the induction, there really is nothing we can do. It’s strangely… civilian.

I’m not used to it. Back on Earth Bet, every minute of my working day was spent productively. I’d brought that habit with me, at first - on our first day in the city alone we’d situated ourselves, forged identities, secured money, unlocked our Aura, enrolled in Atlas and picked out an apartment to rent. Now that we’re starting to get settled, I’m getting antsy. I’m not used to just idling a day away - I don’t much like it at all.

But, Dragon makes it bearable. Enjoyable, even. I think I’d have already driven myself mad if I was alone. Still - we manage to fill the days with the little things. Going shopping to pick up the essentials, walking around town to get a better feel for the city and poking around the few bits of technology we have to figure out how they work.

The movie starts, and Dragon leans against me, pulling a blanket over the both of us. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, holding her close and letting the movie distract me from my worries.

It's almost midnight when it finishes. The yellow glow of the streetlights shines in through a part in our curtains, trailing a line across the dark room, leaving us sitting in the gloom as the display turns itself off.

"I've been thinking." Dragon breaks the silence, a stiff edge to her voice. "If I were to seize control of every networked device in the city, I'd have…" she trails off.

That's a rather grim thought - where's she going with this? Something's clearly troubling her.

She collects herself "Almost nothing. Maybe another one or two percent in resources at my disposal." She hurriedly adds, "Not that I'd do that, of course! It's just-"

"I believe you - I know you wouldn't do that. Something's clearly eating at you, though."

She slumps in my arms, letting out a breath. "Back on Earth Bet, I'd be constantly hooked into things - keeping an eye on the internet, talking with other Tinkers, coordinating with Capes, watching the Birdcage. There was a massive amount of stuff out there - out in the digital aether. I was just one big fish in an entire ocean. Here..."

I nod, letting her put her thoughts into words.

"...Here, I'm still that big fish, except that ocean is now a puddle." She swallows, letting the admission sit for a moment before she continues. "What I’m trying to say is that... I feel Isolated, I suppose. Cut off."

I’m not sure what to say. I think I understand what she’s trying to get at, but… I don’t have any solutions. I’m not sure there are any - not short term ones, anyway. I just pull her closer.

“You’ve… helped me with it. Us, spending time together these past few days.” She puts her head down on my chest. “I just wanted to thank you for that, Colin.”

* * *

The headmaster stands behind the podium, shoulders squared. General Ironwood - apparently, he’s a man of some renown. Not only that - he also holds significant power in Atlas, in both the political and military realms. The whole induction is a surprisingly informal affair, given the man’s position.

He goes on, delivering his remarks to the soon-to-be-students. He comes off like he’s trying too hard to be friendly. It’s slightly stiff - just a little forced and unnatural.

He speaks of how Huntsmen have duties to serve as protectors of Remnant, and that safety is not a guarantee for any Huntsman, even those in training. The rest of the students don’t seem to be cowed - they take the declaration in stride, chattering among themselves.

They don’t exactly look like students of a military academy, either - most are dressed in bright colours and modern-looking clothes: jackets, skirts, dress pants. Styles and cuts I couldn’t describe if I tried. Perhaps this is a part of Huntsman culture? Similar to how Capes wear masks and costumes, their equivalents in this world dress fashionably and in bright colours.

Dragon and I look out of place, as seems to happen all too often. We’d left our armour and weapons in our bags - as instructed. Instead, we’re dressed professionally - myself in a suit and tie, Dragon in a business blouse and suit-jacket.

I can’t help but to think we may have made some sort of faux-pas. When we’d shopped for the clothes, there’d been such a dizzying array of options - it had been a struggle to find something we had thought suitable.

A different world comes with different standards, it seems. Still, while we’ve been attracting looks, they don’t seem to be hostile. More curious or amused than anything else. 

The headmaster concludes his opening remarks, his voice adopting a less serious tone. “As I’m sure you know, it’s tradition for Huntsmen to train in teams of four. Before you leave this hall tonight, you will all be assigned one partner and another pair as team members. Each team will also have one person selected as team leader.”

The chatter in the hall intensifies - it’s clear that everyone is excited. Dragon and I, not so much. We’d known that this was coming going in - depending on how things work out, it may end up being something we just have to work around.

“Here at Atlas, each team is hand-selected - they’ve already been decided based on the interviews each of you gave to one of our professors.” His voice hardens, making it clear that he’ll not be compromising on his next words. “You will not have the opportunity to change them. You will work, learn and grow with your team over the coming years. Though some teams may have a rocky start, being able to work with others is a critical skill that we require of all Huntsmen.”

He pauses for a moment, letting the room quieten down. “I’ll hand off to my deputy, who’ll announce the teams.”

He steps back, giving the stage to the other man. Tall and stern-faced, he doesn’t introduce himself and gets right into making the announcements. Names are listed with little gravitas, their pictures appearing on the displays on the stage. Each team is also given a designation, a leader and a room number.

“Tess Richter and Colin Wallis join Alabaster Blackburn and Lillie Coldwater as team CBLT - Cobalt, led by Tess Richter.”

The announcement has me relieved - we’re both on the same team, and one of us is the leader. It couldn’t have gone better, honestly.

Dragon - or Tess, according to our forged documents - has our other two team members highlighted in my ocular display almost immediately. Blackburn is tall, sharp featured with defined musculature partially hidden underneath a black canvas jacket. His dark hair is tied back, his hands shoved into his pockets. Coldwater is pale-skinned, with bluish-grey hair. She’s wearing a heavy, furred overcoat that reaches down to her knees.

Neither look quite as young as the others around them - have we been lumped in with others slated for accelerated courses? I suppose that makes sense.

The ceremony goes on, the deputy completing the team announcements before laying out the basic rules and expectations that apply to all students. Once the ceremony draws to a close, we’re instructed to meet with our team and get to know each other before classes begin on Monday.

The room erupts into activity, people rushing off to find their teammates. “We’d better go collect them before they wander off looking for us.” Dragon says, her words clear over our private channel.

We push our way through the crowd towards our teammates, catching their attention before finding an exit. A short way from the hall, we stop at a lounge area, away from the rest of the students.

Dragon makes introductions - “I’m Tess, and this is Colin. Pleased to meet you.”

Blackburn doesn’t seem to be impressed. He’s got an incredulous expression on his face, as if he can’t quite believe his eyes.

Coldwater is of a more positive disposition - across her face is an airy smile. “Oh goodness! My name’s Lillie - I’m looking forward to working with you all!”

Blackburn grunts, rolling his eyes. “Aren’t you a little old for this line of work, chrome dome?”

Wonderful - an attitude problem. I can’t be more than six or seven years older than him, either. Working with him is bound to be an absolute pleasure, I can tell already.

Coldwater gasps, affronted in my stead. “You shouldn’t say things like that! Besides - if he passed the exams, he’s clearly capable.”

“That’s quite alright, Lillie. If Blackburn has such concerns about my capabilities, he’s free to assuage himself of them against me in the arena.” I’ve managed his sort before - the best way to handle them is directly. Without embarrassing him, that is - that’s a surefire way to breed resentment.

He scowls. “I’ll be taking you up on that - count on it.”

Dragon quickly changes the topic. “Colin and I were thinking that it might be a good idea if we all went out for dinner in Atlas - get to know each other a little more. I’m not sure what you two are planning, but the two of us won’t be using the dorms very much - we’ve got an apartment together fairly close by.”

Lillie bounces in her seat with excitement. “Oh! The two of you are a couple? That’s so romantic, being partners as well!” Blackburn’s scowl intensifies. He opens his mouth to say something, but Lillie just rolls right over him. “I think dinner sounds like a great idea! Come on - let’s go!”

She grabs hold of Blackburn, pulling him along with her. He yelps, trying to pull his arm away, but I don’t think Lillie even notices. Dragon and I follow along - Lillie clearly has a destination in mind already.

There’s a wry smile across Dragon’s face - she’s clearly amused by the scene. It seems that Lillie simply doesn’t care for Blackburn’s sourpuss exterior. He’d looked just about ready to turn us down and slink off, too.


	7. Tattered Capes 7

Dinner is nice - Lillie brings us to a homely little place that serves traditional Atlesian cuisine. Most dishes feature either fish or game. That makes sense, at least - farming is sure to be a difficult task so far north.

I'm still easing back onto solids, so fish soup it is for me. Dragon's synthetic body can also fortunately do a convincing job of eating things. Even if she won't get anything from it, she has a meal with us all the same.

Blackburn, for all his grumbling, sticks around. Once food is served, he even seems to relax a little. He doesn’t really say much, but he stopped casting spiteful looks my way at least. 

Lillie, on the other hand, can’t seem to hear enough of her own voice - she’s eager to fill silences, and happy to chatter on wherever the conversation leads.

By the end of the night, I feel like I’ve heard her entire life story. Born in some remote outpost way up in the north of the continent, her parents are Huntsmen that settled down there for a quiet retirement. She grew up with personal training from them, and spent most of her teenage years helping guard the outpost from Grimm. Apparently, she only moved to Atlas a few weeks ago.

I suppose I can understand why she’d be so eager to talk - I didn’t get the impression that there were many other people that lived in her outpost. 

Blackburn, on the other hand, seems to be deliberately aloof. Lillie and Dragon tried poking answers out of him, but he seems to be a fan of vague and meaningless when it comes to talking about himself. All they managed to get out of him is that he’s from Mantle and is on a sabbatical to become a qualified Huntsmen.

I don't know what his problem is - I just hope he doesn't make it our problem.

Dragon and I stick to our cover stories - until recently, we were living by ourselves out in the wilderness but before that we took commissions on custom weapons. It’s all either unverifiable, backed up by our fabricated digital records, or is supposed to have happened long enough ago that people shouldn’t remember enough to prove us wrong.

Lillie is polite enough not to ask about the scars on my head or my obviously cybernetic eyes, but I can tell she's curious. We haven't settled on an appropriate distortion of the truth to tell about that, either - Dragon and I will have to think something up soon.

The night wraps up at a reasonable hour, and Lillie and Blackburn leave together for the dorms - neither have homes in Atlas.

I shut our apartment door behind us. Dragon collapses down on the couch, gesturing for me to sit next to her with a pat on the cushions. "What did you think of them?"

I pull my tie loose, throwing it over the back of the dining room chair and undoing my top button. "Lillie seems nice enough." I join her, relaxing back into the seat. "Blackburn seems like he has an attitude problem."

She frowns, tilting her head back to stare up at the ceiling. "Lillie seemed lonely to me. Like she was desperate just to talk to someone."

I hadn't caught that - I just thought she was talkative. Dragon would be the better judge, though, so I'll take her word for it.

She continues. "I think Alabaster got the wrong impression of us, somehow. We might have accidentally offended him."

I hum, considering her words. "He'd been stand-offish from the moment we met. What could it have been?"

"I don't know. Could be that we just rubbed him the wrong way, somehow.”

I shrug. "He doesn't seem too bad to me - even with the attitude problem - so I don't really have an issue with either of them." Admittedly, my impression is fairly unfounded - it's a gut instinct - but it isn't like we have much to go on.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter terribly, in the end.” Dragon sighs, pulling herself up from the couch. “We’re officially keyed in for the Academy’s facilities now, so when the library opens in the morning we can begin properly investigating what this world knows about Aura. But, there was something else I wanted to talk about, too.”

Her expression grows serious as she walks over to the dining table, grabbing the duffle bag set on it. She sits down on the coffee table opposite me, putting the bag down beside her. 

“What’s this?”

She slouches, folding her hands in front of her. “...Preparation. For a worst-case scenario.” She unzips the bag, revealing the high-density storage units inside. “I collated some of our smaller databases onto partially empty storage units so we had a few spare ones empty.”

Ah. I see where this is going. The thought makes me queasy, but it’s only sensible to plan for the worst. “You’ve made a backup of yourself?”

She nods. “For what good it’ll do, anyway.” A dour note enters her voice, her countenance darkening. “I’ve… done some tests. Simulations, too.” 

She’s got bad news, by her tone. A coil of icy dread settles in my gut.

“Colin… if I’m destroyed with this body - if I die, there’s... a good chance my backup will never load.”

The dread crystallizes, turning into stomach-churning fear. Her backup reliability has become even worse? “How?” At first, the issue had been caused by my meddling with her code - my initial attempts to free her from her restrictions.

I’d been reckless - I hadn’t truly understood what I was doing.

“I don’t know. Maybe it got worse as a result of the way Pandora went about things - that’s the only thing I can think of. But, the point remains that none of my backup-reinitialization tests have been successful.” She shakes her head. “Maybe I’m wrong - maybe once we try the real thing, instead of a test, it’ll work fine.”

“I think that’s a gamble neither of us want to take.” 

“No, it isn’t…” She trails off, zipping the bag back up. “If things come to that - if I’m in a situation where I know this body will be destroyed - I’ll need to…”

“Jump ship to my cybernetics.” There’s just no way she’d be able to transfer herself to any of the locals’ tech. With the Melusine and Pendragon out of action, my cybernetic systems are the only other thing in this world she could inhabit. “Don’t hesitate to.”

She dips her head, resting her chin on her clasped hands. “It’ll be a tight squeeze - I’ll have to leave a lot of myself behind. But, it’d all be fairly non-volatile. Enough that replacing what I lost from even an old backup wouldn’t make much of a difference. Whatever issues my backups have, partial restorations don’t seem to be affected.” 

“I can see at least one problem, though.”

“Yeah. Until we make another body, I’ll be stuck in your systems.” She confirms. “And who knows how long that could take - we don’t have anything approaching the resources to even make a start.”

Dragon’s current body is expensive - and that’s putting it lightly. She’d poured a large proportion of both her Tinkering budget and personal income over several years into it. Most of that was spent developing the initial prototype, but even making a second would require resources we don’t have access to.

We’d need to make tools to make more advanced tools to make machines to make the body. We’re cut off from our infrastructure, in other words - we’d need to build it all up again. I couldn’t do it by myself, either - my specialty just doesn’t encompass everything it needs to.

Government backing is pretty much the only reason she could afford to sink so many resources into the project in the first place. Trying to do it again without a backer would be… challenging. Not impossible, but it’d be a multiple-year project, by my estimation. Most of that time would be spent accruing capital.

“...Is a stop-gap body within our reach - provided the worst comes to pass?” Or would she be stuck in my systems the entire time?

She frowns. “Not a sophisticated one.” She pauses, considering something. “If we went back to the Pendragon and Melusine to salvage more of their systems, we might be able to put one together with a bit of work. The main barrier to those ends are complex electronic components - nothing in this world is suitable, and making our own isn’t particularly reasonable with the tools we have.”

I can’t help but to slump. I’ve never really had a taste of the independent Tinker lifestyle - all my career, I’ve had an organization behind me, backing me up with material, facilities and funding. Going without is just as crippling as I’d imagined.

“Should we try and find a sponsor? Explain our situation - maybe to one of the Kingdoms’ governments?”

“...No - not right now. Let’s keep that option in our back pocket - use it only if we need to.” I can tell she’s just as conflicted as me - the tradeoff inherent in the decision is a complex one. “Once we’ve hitched ourselves to their wagon, taking that back isn’t going to be easy.”

“Right.” I let out a breath, pushing myself to my feet. “Let’s table this discussion. We can revisit if we need to. For now, we should work on our suits - they’re about due for maintenance.”

Dragon drops the subject, following me. We set our suits out on the dining table, sitting opposite each other and quietly working through the night.

* * *

Atlas Academy's library is extensive. The room is huge, with arched ceilings, and long rows of tall shelving units. With our scrolls officially keyed into their systems as students, Dragon and I showed up bright and early.

It’s been several hours, and we really haven’t made much progress.

Dragon puts down her book. “It’s a bust. ‘The Oral Histories of Aura’ doesn’t have anything new. I’m beginning to fear we’ve already exhausted the knowledge on the topic.”

I set my pen down, looking down at my notebook where I’ve collected our research. “If we have, then Aura is frightfully unexplored for something that’s been around so long.”

Aura hasn’t been around for decades or centuries - the oldest references we’ve found are millenia old. Even then, we’re no closer to an origin point - there’s no golden figure appearing from on high and bringing with him strange and unknown powers.

She frowns. “Every single reference we have calls Aura the manifestation of a person’s soul.”

“Do you believe that?” I don’t think I do. Every piece of evidence attributable to the uniqueness of the ‘soul’ - the colours, the semblances, the advanced Aura techniques - all of it, can instead be explained by the presence of an Agent.

“I’m not sure. They seem absolutely certain of it, though.”

“We didn’t exactly find out about Agents through normal circumstances - what’s to say that they simply haven’t put the puzzle pieces together?”

“Animals can have their Aura unlocked, remember?” She grabs one of the books on the table, flipping it open to the reference. “Here - per ‘The Aura Almanac’. They can be trained to unlock their Semblance, too.”

“Uncharacteristic behaviour for Agents by our standards, I’ll grant - but we only have a sample size of one. Doesn’t make an Entity any less possible.”

She concedes the point, ducking her head. “There’s that other thing, too - people can unlock their own Semblances through rigorous training. No traumatic experience required.”

“We already know that children of Capes trigger more easily - if Aura has been around for millenia, then everyone is a child of a Cape several times over if you go back far enough. But… the fact that animals can be trained to activate their semblance might poke a hole or two in that - depends how widespread the practice was in the past.”

“It’s uncommon, I gather. But there’s no telling if animal triggers play by different rules. I’m just spitballing here, but what if -” She grabs another book from her pile, putting it down in front of me. ‘The Comprehensive Guide to the Self-Activation of Aura’, it’s called. “What if there was no origin point for Aura? By the looks of things, anybody can unlock their own Aura with enough discipline and introspection.”

“Introspection?”

“That’s right.” She nods, tapping the spine of the book for emphasis. “Half of that book is spent talking about how important it is to the process - apparently, understanding yourself completely is a prerequisite to manifesting your soul.”

“...The logic is internally consistent.” But still doesn’t disqualify an Entity. It’s more of that uncharacteristic behaviour, if we’re really being optimistic about things.

She lets out a breath, running out of steam. “Then, that’s all I’ve got. All the doubt I can cast on our theory. Apparently, there are some advanced Aura techniques that allow for understanding and communication between two people’s souls - but again, nothing an Agent couldn’t do.”

I cradle my head. “All of this - for three or four points we can at best call ‘uncharacteristic behaviour’.” It’s discouraging. The both of us had - perhaps foolishly - been hoping for some major flaw we could use to immediately disprove the Entity theory.

“Yeah…” She slumps. “This isn’t a job we’ll be finishing any time soon. Let’s… call it a day. The rest of the library will be waiting for us when we come back.”


	8. Tattered Capes 8

“Wallis - wait up a minute.” Blackburn calls me aside. It’s the first official day of lectures, and Dragon suggested that team Cobalt should meet up beforehand. 

“Blackburn. What is it?” Lillie and Dragon are clearly both curious, but the two give us some space, going on ahead.

“I wanted to apologize - for how I was acting when we first met. I’ve... had some time to cool down over the weekend, and Lillie made sure to beat into my skull how much of a prick I was being.”

An apology? He’s even being genuine - I’m honestly surprised. I revise my estimation of him upwards. “Apology accepted - it’s all water under the bridge.” It’s no skin off my nose, after all. “You’ve got me curious, though. Why all the attitude in the first place?”

He’s relieved, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “It’s just, you reminded me a lot of someone I’m not…” He trails off, looking for the right words. “Overly fond of.” He decides, grimacing. “That got to me, hence the... mulishness.”

It seems like he’s putting his distaste for that person lightly, by his expression.

He shakes his head, continuing. “We got off on the wrong foot.” He extends a hand. “Please - call me Al.”

Not Alabaster? I suppose the name is a bit of a mouthful. I shake his hand. “Alright - call me Colin, then.”

Al nods, satisfied. “We’d better get moving, catch up to the girls - that introductory lecture is meant to start soon.”

We move off, rejoining the others. Later that day, Al makes a similar apology to Dragon. I’m actually somewhat relieved - he realised that his recalcitrance was an issue that would affect the team, and took steps to make amends.

Most of the theory classes offered here are actually uncannily similar in style to those I took during my own college days. Only, the lectures offered are on things like the Grimm, Aura and Dust rather than the Psychology I studied in my time. Atlas is home to lecture halls that wouldn’t look out of place in an Ivy league campus - the style is slightly different, but it’s close enough to bring back memories for me. 

The main difference is the practical classes - combat, Dust application, and even specialised things offered only to advanced students like piloting and bomb defusal. Some aren’t all that dissimilar to the workshops and seminars that had been sometimes held for the Protectorate by the PRT back when I worked for them.

Dragon actually seems to be rather enamoured with life at the academy - not really with the content delivered, but with the opportunity to meet and work with others. 

Like we suspected, Lillie and Al are both on the accelerated track with us, owing to them both being in their mid-twenties with prior combat experience. Over our first few months of classes, the four of us slowly but surely work our way out of the basic subjects.

There’s no rule enforcing it or anything, but we stick together, testing out of the same subjects at the same time. For Dragon and I, the theory tests are made almost trivial owing to my cybernetics and Dragon’s nature. But, we help our teammates prepare for and pass the exams with us.

The combat exams are handled a little different, however. Typically, the instructor would observe a student’s progress over an entire year and grant either a pass or a fail. For accelerated students, this isn’t possible - instead we’re to face off against students on the normal track already a few years into their course. Our performance is to be judged by the instructor, who will deem whether going into more advanced classes is suitable.

“Richter, Wallis. You’re up first - you’ll be facing Schnee and Eisenbarth.” The instructor announces. The rest of the students begin to murmur excitedly at the announcement - something about our two opponents must have them especially interested in the fight.

“You’ve got this - show ‘em what you’re made of!” Lillie encourages, cheering us on. Al just gives us a solemnly supportive nod as we make our way onto the field, facing our opponents.

Come to think of it, this is actually the first time we’ve actually fought someone since the application exam - our time in the past few months has been consumed with the theory classes. Lillie and Al haven’t actually seen us fight yet.

Schnee is a willowy girl, with neatly done snow-white hair and clothed more formally than is typical of other students. Eisenbarth is a broad-chested mountain of a man with a severe expression and closely-cut grey hair wearing plainly-coloured slacks and a vest. 

Schnee is all pure whites and dark blues, where Eisenbarth is all shades of grey and brown. I’m still fuzzy on the specifics, but Dragon and I have caught on that colour holds some amount of cultural significance to the people of Remnant.

I wonder what Dragon and I having matched power armour suggests to them? The finer details and designs of our suits are slightly different, but both suits are made in the same style with the same shade of dark green armour plates and shiny gold trims.

I pop my helmet on, the seals engaging with a quiet hiss. Dragon follows suit and the four of us get ready to begin, drawing our weapons. Dragon and I, with our similar but not identical spears, Schnee with a thin sword similar to a sabre, and Eisenbarth with a great hulking two-handed metal cudgel that I can already tell is certain to contain all sorts of mechashift technology inside.

With the flip of a mental switch, I get my predictive combat algorithm into active mode. Against new opponents, it’s results will be worthless. But, as the fight progresses it will become increasingly accurate. Painting Schnee and Eisenbarth as our targets, I engage a preset that will mute the results until a certain confidence level is reached.

Especially when networked with Dragon, the algorithm can be scarily effective at times. It’s come a long way since I first used it against Leviathan. It’s nowhere near infallible - one object lesson in hubris was more than enough to emphasise that - but it’s a significant technological edge that our opponents lack.

I hesitate to count my chickens before they’ve hatched, but I’m quietly confident Dragon and I will prevail.

“The match will continue until one entire pair is eliminated. A combatant whose Aura reaches red as indicated by the arena monitors will be considered unable to continue, and must yield and take no further actions in the fight. The arena shields will be engaged, and ring-out will not be a valid elimination method.” The announcer declares, stepping behind the control panel set at the bottom of the stands. 

In other words, it’s some sort of cage-match: no escape or retreat, the only way to win is to take the other pair down. He fiddles with the controls, and an energy shield springs to life around the arena, the screens flicking on to display our Aura readouts.

The instructor stands at the ready, casting an eye across the arena to ensure everything is in order. The crowd has quietened, seemingly waiting with bated breath for the match to begin. Across the field, Schnee is tense, her lips pressed into a thin line. Eisenbarth is loose, apparently unworried.

“Begin!”

With a flash of white light at her feet, Schnee launches forward, sliding through the air towards us with her sword outstretched.

Immediately, I identify the motion as unnatural and adjust my expectations accordingly - unexpected jukes and abrupt changes in momentum. Dragon is already moving to engage - against unnatural agility, her capabilities are better suited.

I launch into a dead sprint towards Eisenbarth, the servos in my legs and suit accelerating me at a clip belied by my heavy armour. Something simple to begin with - a probing attack.

With a flick of my wrist, my spear launches forward as I charge, the haft telescoping out, launching the head towards him. Taken by surprise, Eisenbarth scrambles to heft his club upwards, thumbing a control on the hilt.

The club transforms, exploding outwards into a tower shield. Mechashift - I knew it. My spear impacts, but Eisenbarth’s footing is solid and he’s unmoved by the attack. Another twist of my wrist has my spear retracting in moments.

With practiced ease, I swing the momentum of the head around into an overhead smash, once again sending the blade flying outwards. My opponent is still on the backfoot, and he can do no more than raise his shield once again.

With a mental prod at the controls, the head of my spear electrifies, arcing as it comes down onto the shield. Eisenbarth lets out a scream, throwing himself backwards. As expected - his weapon isn’t insulated. He just got a nasty shock. 

There’s worse I could have done - had I used the nanothorn generator instead, he would have lost an arm. But, such things have absolutely no place in a fight like this. Win or lose, I’ll be keeping all my truly deadly weapons off the field.

That’s a lot of my arsenal - there had been little use developing non-lethal weapons to use against the Slaughterhouse Nine and the Endbringers - but I think I still have more than enough tricks up my sleeve to take home a win.

His footing is thoroughly disrupted, so I press my advantage, pushing forwards with an upwards electrified slash. He drops to the ground to avoid the attack, falling past the head of my spear.

All of a sudden, Eisenbarth is on his feet again - without even pushing off the ground, he had sprung forwards as if launched from where he lay.

I’m caught off-guard - people don’t normally move like that, and he’d not displayed such agility before. Gritting his teeth, he grabs hold of my still-electrified spear, tugging me forwards. He wants to get me close - where he can actually use that club of his.

I don’t play ball, letting the weapon fall from my hands and jumping backwards. He seems shocked by the move, throwing the still sparking spear behind him before it does more damage.

Suddenly confident, his shield transforms back into a club as he lunges forwards with that same preternatural agility, the ground at his feet deforming strangely as he does.

I can’t help but to smile under my helmet - he thinks I’m vulnerable. I’ve got him deceived. From its place on the ground, my spear dissolves into a tangle of energetic green tracers, rematerializing back into my hand.

It’s an old trick - but one that’s never failed to catch someone new to it out.

Unable to change trajectory, he’s caught defenseless as my weapon swats him out of the air. With the full might of my suit, he’s launched towards the shield. His head cracks against it, his Aura flashing a steely grey as it absorbs the hit.

Across our personal link, Dragon shouts a warning. I catch her meaning immediately, instinctively twisting on the spot to bring my spear around in a slash towards the charging Schnee.

She’s caught surprised, but not enough to fail to get her weapon up in a two-handed block. Dragon pushes the opportunity, on the offensive immediately, her spear lancing out towards Schnee’s leg. In tune with her intentions, my own attack follows up, telescoping outwards to follow her as she jumps backwards.

Schnee’s skilled, though - enough to push the attack aside with the hooked hilt of a parrying dagger she suddenly pulled out of somewhere in her sword. Worse, her weapons seem to be insulated, unlike her partner’s - she’s unphased by the electricity completely.

Schnee suddenly lunges forward, aiming to take advantage of my open guard. My feet are yanked out from under me by some power, sending me stumbling. Dragon is too slow to move her weapon to intervene, and I’ve little choice but to take the hit.

Her sword does little more than slide off of my breastplate, leaving a shallow scratch across the material. Damnit - I’d forgotten to channel my Aura. Getting that mark out won’t be easy.

Schnee seems to be taken aback by the results of the hit - enough that she’s caught in the jaw by my mechanically-driven slug. The punch sends her off her feet, spinning in the air. She recovers admirably - a glowing snowflake-platform appearing under her feet and arresting her momentum entirely.

That must be her Semblance - some sort of momentum control via those snowflake patterns.

Dragon reengages with Schnee, spear lancing out and sending her parrying and dodging as she retreats from the onslaught. A ping over our link has me refocus on Eisenbarth, now recovered and charging towards me with a lumbering gait.

Too late to get more distance, I bring my spear up to take the man’s overhead swing directly.

He hits like a truck, making my armour groan and weapon bend under the forces. Not only that - but he’s damn quick with that thing, too - bringing it around for follow up hits before I can even recover and regain the offensive.

Somethings gone wrong - he should be getting juiced full of volts right now. It’s all I can do to keep blocking, intercepting the club with the haft of my spear hit after hit. A critical component must have been damaged with that first strike - it’s not the first time something like that has happened.

I need to change tack. After blocking a hit, I sweep my leg around with all the power I can call on, aiming to sweep his legs out from under him. 

My leg stops dead on collision, not even so much as making his foot budge.

His face twists into a smile. “You can’t move a mountain, tin can.” The taunt is delivered with alacrity as he hammers his club through my exposed guard into my armoured stomach.

Damn - that must have been his Semblance at work.

I’m sent through the air, the hit managing to accelerate even the mass of all my armour off the ground. My inertial dampeners pad the hit for me, but even still it feels like I’ve just been slugged right in the gut.

Those dampeners are rated for mid-level brutes. I’m impressed.

I hit the ground hard, the same dampeners mitigating the impact to almost nothing. Scrambling to my feet, I catch a glance of our Aura levels on the screens. Myself at almost full - I don’t think I’ve even caught a real hit with my Aura yet. Dragon, still in the green at a little over half-way - she must be using it heavily, even with her armour. Schnee, at a little under half-way - only just in the orange, now. And Eisenbarth, just a sliver over a third left - the lowest of the four of us.

Time to tie things off, then. With the distance I gained from the launch, I send forth a flurry of telescoping jabs, keeping Eisenbarth out of clubbing range and forcing him to take the hits on his shield.

Instead of trying to push through the assault, he retreats.

What’s he playing at? Is he going for Dragon instead?

His intentions are made clear rather quickly. His weapon shifts again, from a shield into a rotary cannon.

Dammit - more than two Mechashift forms?! My legs launch me into motion as the gun spins up. My armour’s good, but pitting it against something of that caliber would damage it more than I’d like. 

He hefts the weapon, trying and failing to keep it on target. I circle around, positioning myself between him and Schnee - if he keeps firing, he risks hitting his teammate.

He does so anyway, apparently uncaring of the risk. Multi-coloured tracers lance from the barrels of the gun, dust explosions going off on the shield behind me. Dragon and Schnee break from their exchange, ducking and rolling out of the line of fire.

I’ve little choice but to channel my Aura, taking the hits as I thumb the controls on my spear and send it telescoping forwards. 

The blade, now buzzing with an audible whine as it vibrates fast enough to slice steel like butter, shreds the rotating barrel to pieces. I must have hit something volatile, because the entire thing explodes in his hands into a crackling cloud of fire, steam and electricity.

Dust munitions, apparently, are a hallmark of huntsmen weaponry.

Eisenbarth is sent tumbling from the explosion, slamming into the arena shield once more. His Aura cracks, before shattering from the collision with the shield.

He’s down and out. Only one more to go.

Glancing at the monitor, things have changed - Dragon and Schnee are both still neck-and-neck, Eisenbarth is listed as empty, and I’ve been cut down by a full third of my Aura.

Those Dust rounds are nasty.

“Moving in to clean up.” I say over our private line. Targeting information appears on my ocular display - ah, my algorithm has trained itself on the data Dragon has been feeding it. 

It’s over for Schnee.

The two of us work as one, methodically picking at the flaws and weaknesses of Schnee’s style. Systematically, we dismantle her defense and take pieces out of her Aura, our every move coordinated and directed in synchronicity by my analysis program.

Schnee is immediately on the back foot, clearly surprised by the abrupt shift in our favour. Where before she had managed to hold her own even two-against-one, she can now do nothing more than lose.

She doesn’t even get the chance to pull out whatever tricks she has left up her sleeve - we’ve so thoroughly mapped out her defense that she simply never has the opportunity.

It had taken more than a minute for Dragon to whittle the first half of her Aura away. It takes mere seconds for us to finish the job and bring her down to the red. My final strike sends her sliding across the ground, face down in the dirt. 

The instructor calls the match, and the shields fizzle out of existence.


	9. Tattered Capes 9

Our opponents pick themselves up off the ground. We exchange a few short words, and return to our seats. Despite his destroyed weapon, Eisenbarth seems to have taken the loss gracefully, congratulating the both of us. Whereas Schnee seems to have something stuck in her craw. She’s clearly unhappy and wants to say something. But she keeps her thoughts quiet, offering only a few token remarks.

Our victory seems to have gotten the rest of the students murmuring about something. Their expressions range from confused to taken aback to gleeful. Perhaps this was an upset victory? I’m not exactly clued in to whatever our opponents' reputations are.

Lillie, smiling sunnily, compliments us on the victory as she and Al pass us on their way down. “Wow - you two are amazing! You work so well together!”

Al, meanwhile, nods along, agreeing with Lillie’s analysis. “I’m impressed - since when have you two been keeping all that skill up your sleeves?”

“Oh stop it.” Dragon waves off, acting bashful, but leaving the question unanswered. “Good luck with your match!”

The two make their way down onto the field. The examiner calls to the field the Citron twins - apparently, the other half of team Winter. He recites the rules again, declaring the match under the same rules as ours. The four take a ready position, drawing their weapons.

Lillie dips both hands into her heavy coat, pulling out a weapon in each. In her offhand, a simple revolver. Apart from the distinctive colour of the dust rounds I can see in the cylinder, it looks to be a completely normal revolver - no mechashift technology or any other tricks. In her main hand, a folding ice axe which she flicks open, locking into place.

Very rugged, very simple. Given her history in a remote northern outpost, it seems rather appropriate. No complex parts that could fail, leaving replacement parts weeks away - you could cobble together even a major repair out of scrap and hand tools. It’s not exactly something I’d go for, but I can’t fault her for the attitude. 

Al’s weapon, on the other hand, is a different beast entirely. From the sling on his back, he pulls a bullpup rifle. To an even greater degree than Eisenbarth’s club, I can tell there’s an absolutely fiendish amount of hidden mechanisms packed inside that thing.

To my eye, it’s clear that the weapon is a serious piece of work, and a custom job besides. It’s a cut above the normal mechashift weaponry I usually see Huntsmen with, in other words.

Their opponents are a serious pair. The twins, scowls on their faces, are dressed in the same two-toned black and yellow outfits. The colours inverted between them - one predominantly black, the other mostly yellow. They both wield longswords with strange hooks and segmentations along the length of the blade.

The fight begins, and it’s clear from the outset that Lillie and Al are inferior to the Citron twins in terms of martial skill - they close the distance, harrying Al in close quarters to deny him the range advantage of his weapon.

Lillie doesn’t hesitate to move in to assist, blasting off all eight shots of her revolver to force them back. 

Explosions of ice and scalding steam come from where her shots land - she doesn’t manage to catch them in the ice, but the steam keeps them from just rushing back in carelessly. Not a bad use of dust rounds - in the space of seconds, she created a hazard that stopped their opponents from continuing to harry Al.

Al’s weapon shifts, a second, longer barrel sliding out from under the main one. His stance changes, and he pulls the trigger. A gout of shimmering fire spouts forth that he sweeps across the field.

A flamethrower? Interesting - it would be dust-powered, I would assume. Petrochemicals aren’t especially well-known to this world, I’ve gathered.

Their opponents are caught by the flames, unable to see the attack coming through the clouds of steam. It takes a chunk out of their Aura, and sends them dodging out of the way.

Al’s expended a surprise card, but it bought him time to reorient. He flips his weapon in the air, catching it by the barrels. Wrenching it apart, the weapon separates, shifting into two swords. They’re oddly shaped - more like overly-bulky machetes than anything elegant.

It’s clear that Al’s very familiar with the motions - this is no new invention of his. I wouldn’t say the design is a good one, but he’s well practiced with using it, in any case.

Lillie, her revolver dry, returns it to her coat. However, she doesn’t leave herself empty-handed - she draws another, slightly different revolver. She gives her opponents no quarter, firing off more dust shots before repeating the process and drawing another.

How many of those things does she keep under that coat of hers? There’s plenty of room - you could probably fit a good dozen or so.

The twins push through the barrage of ice and steam, deciding the Aura cost is worthwhile to keep the fight in close quarters. Al meets them, charging forwards with machetes in hand. 

Al does his best to keep the pair occupied in melee while Lillie continues chipping away at their Aura with revolver shot. Alone, he wouldn’t have stood a chance, but with Lillie keeping them honest, he isn’t hopelessly outmatched.

Still, they’re fighting a losing battle - unless something changes, Al will be taken out.

Sure enough, after her fourteenth revolver, Lillie doesn’t draw another. I’m amazed - how is she moving so freely in that coat? Ice axe in hand, she moves in to help Al. Without the supporting fire, he’s quickly finding himself losing Aura and being pushed back. 

Not for long, though - he pulls out another surprise, pointing both machetes end-forward at his opponents and clicking a control on the grip. One shoots another gout of flame, forcing them to step back. From the other, a distinctive and familiar ‘whump’ noise - a grenade launcher?

Sure enough, a canister launches forwards from his other sword, exploding into a ball of fire at the feet of his opponents. More dust, by the looks of things.

The fight continues in close quarters - neither side pulls any new tricks. If the twins have a Semblance, it isn’t an obvious one. The same with Al and Lillie - if they have one, I don’t spot them using it. 

Al is the first to be knocked out, but he takes one of the twins down with him in a point-blank dust explosion from one of his machete-launchers.

Lillie is more fresh than the remaining twin - a consequence of her earlier distance while she used her revolvers. The remaining twin flicks his sword, the weapon transforming - now, he wields a sort of barbed whip. Worse, Lillie really doesn’t match up well with her opponents new weapon form - he uses it to great effect to keep Lillie far out of striking distance.

It seems the fight is all but over when she pulls out one last trick. The entire field is absolutely soaked in water at this point, the air thick with steam - a result of her earlier dust rounds. Lillie gives up on closing the distance, jumping back out of range. With a look of concentration on her face and a flash of her Aura, a sudden change comes over the arena.

Her Semblance.

Water crystallizes out of the air into flakes of ice. The puddle at her feet, flash-freezing in an instant. The twin stumbles, his footing caught by the sudden change.

That’s not all - the snow in the air begins to clump, balling itself together. A ring of snowballs collects around Lillie, floating through the air. The twin charges, trying to close the distance before Lillie can finish whatever she’s doing, but he slips and falls on the treacherously slippery ice.

The snowballs crunch, compacting further. In moments, they’ve become hailstones, perfectly spherical and completely clear. On the screen, Lillie’s Aura is dropping at a dangerous rate - if she doesn’t finish things with her next attack, it’ll be over for her.

Her opponent, still trying and failing to regain his footing, is vulnerable.

The hailstones launch forward. One after another, they slam against her opponent’s Aura with a wicked crack. Hit after hit, his Aura shimmers.

The instructor whistles, calling an end to the bout. On the screen, the results of the match are displayed.

A win for team CBLT. The difference between Lillie and her opponent’s Aura only a sliver - a very, very close match. Were they to fight a rematch, I think the twins would win handily - with all their surprises expended, Lillie and Al would be at a serious disadvantage.

The instructor calls us down, pulling the four of us aside. He explains that he’ll be continuing with his normal class now, and that we’ll hear back our results once he’s shown recordings of our fights to his colleagues. He congratulates us all on a good showing, and says we’re free to either stick around or go off and do our own thing.

Returning to the field, he begins a discussion with the class about the fights they’d just witnessed.

“Hey - you guys want to go for some lunch? I think a victory celebration is in order!” Lillie, despite being clearly exhausted from the fight, is as upbeat as ever. Al seems receptive to the idea, perking up at the thought. I don’t have an objection, and Dragon wouldn’t say no to something like that, so Lillie leads the way.

“So, Al - your weapon. It’s a custom job?” I’m a little curious about it - I haven’t had the chance to look too closely at a great deal of mechashift tech yet, but it does seem fairly interesting.

“Uh-huh. Burning Edict, I call her. Designed, fabricated and assembled her all by myself.”

His proclamation has me lost for words. Al’s never been a particularly lively person, but this topic seems to have brought him to life. Burning Edict, though? What sort of name is that? “It shows, I think. How many different forms does it have? I counted five.”

“That’s right - rifle, dust sprayer, canister launcher and dual machetes. I thought about integrating a shield form as well, but I couldn’t get the internals to fit nicely. What about yours? What do you call your weapon?”

My spear? “Uh… I suppose its name would be General Purpose Combat Spear Version One-Four-Two, Operating Loadout Beta.” That’s what I call it in all my internal documentation, anyway. Somehow, I don’t think that’s what Al had in mind.

Al scrunches his face up, disgusted. “Don’t start with me, man - you can’t be serious!”

“No, I’m serious - that’s just what I call it. Well, just ‘Spear’ for short, usually.”

He groans, eventually catching on that I’m not just pulling his leg. “C’mon - you’re acting like my grandpa! Where’s the personality? You can’t just call your weapon ‘Spear’ and be done with it!” He turns to Dragon. “Back me up here, Tess - what do you call yours?”

He’ll find no respite there, unfortunately. Dragon seems to find Al’s horrified dismay rather amusing, a dry smile across her face. “General Purpose Combat Spear Version One-Four-Two, Operating Loadout Delta.”

The colour drains from his face. “Lillie - you’ve got to help me out here. Our teammates are both robots.”

The remark is clearly a joke, but it strikes a bit closer to home than either Dragon or I are comfortable with. Lillie just whacks Al across the back of the head lightly. “No calling Tess and Colin robots - don’t be rude. Besides, I don’t have names for any of my revolvers, either.”

Al just grumbles, muttering something about being surrounded by philistines under his breath. He changes the topic, “Anyway - you two have some serious armour. I wasn’t expecting it to hold up so well. You make it yourself?”

Dragons nods. “That’s right. These suits are a bit of a collaboration between Colin and I. We worked on developing them together using a suit that Colin made by himself as a base design.”

“Whatever they are, they’re seriously impressive. A lot better than anything else on the market, that’s for certain.” Al’s expression is contemplative, but he doesn’t say any more on the topic.

“Yeah!” Lillie agrees. “Now that you mention it, it makes sense that you worked together on them.” 

It does? How so?

She continues, blind to my confusion. “Oh! And the way you fought together - like, wow! You remind me of my parents - you’re so in tune with each other!” Her smile takes on a more devious note. “So. When’s the wedding?”

Wedding? I can’t help but to sputter. Why is she talking about a wedding?!

Dragon snickers over our private link. “Yeah, Colin. When _is_ the wedding?”

I’m saved from having to think up a response to the jab by our arrival at our destination - a street cart selling hot food near a small park. It’s hardly fine dining, but none of us mind, so we each get our orders and take a seat at a table. Space is at a premium in Atlas, so the park is little more than a small corner of a block cordoned off from the rest of the city. It’s a nice little corner, though - well-kept grass, a few trees and a handful of tables.

Lillie leans forwards, swallowing her food. “So Colin - that trick you pulled, when you teleported your weapon. Was that your Semblance?”

I hum. Was that what it looked like? That particular piece of tech was something I’d needed a bit of help developing for myself - it’s only barely something I can create and maintain without the help of another Tinker. Better be a little vague - let people draw their own conclusions. “Not really. It’s just a little technique I picked up along the way. Your semblance is Ice-control, right? Something along those lines? It’s rather impressive.”

Those hailstones had been launched fast - they’d easily kill a man, if he were unprotected.

“Something along those lines, yeah.” She nods, not elaborating. “It was a really useful thing to have, back in the outpost up north.”

Dragon jumps in. “I thought the way you used ice and steam dust rounds was really clever - not only did you take control of the terrain, but you set things up perfectly later in the fight for your semblance to exploit.”

She smiles. “Thanks - normally, I’d have all the ice I want at my disposal, but I knew that wouldn’t always be the case. Hence, the…” She trails off, opening her coat to display her revolvers. Inside, are two stacks of holsters for her guns, seven on each side from her ribs down to her waist, sewn into the inside of her coat. “...Creative solution.”

Despite the considerable bulk, the coat is thick enough - or, perhaps, well-tailored enough - to not show it. To all onlookers, it seems like a perfectly normal coat. Though, underneath it all, Lillie is slimmer than appearances would have you believe.

Our meal is interrupted by the approach of an elderly man. He’s dressed smartly in a grey and navy blue checkered three piece suit, a teal cravat around his neck. He’s flanked by two toughs, tall and muscular, dressed equally smart and following at a respectable distance.

Lillie freezes, her expression instantly growing brittle. She recognizes this man.

“Lillie - the first time you’re in Atlas in almost twenty years and the first I hear about it is a message from one of my contacts about your combat exam? I’m hurt, dear - you didn’t even drop by to say hello!” Despite his words, he doesn’t seem overly bothered. Rather, he seems fairly overjoyed.

“Grandfather.” Her voice is frigid - despite his apparent amiability, Lillie clearly wants nothing to do with him. “I thought Dad made the boundaries between us clear before we left.”

“Bah!” Lillie’s grandfather waves off the concern. “My son can throw all the tantrums he wants. You’re your own woman now and can make your own decisions. But, I won’t disrupt your celebration any further - I just wanted to let you know that my door is always open to you, dear.” He pulls out a small stack of business cards, putting them down on the table. 

Turning away from Lillie, he addresses the rest of us. “Oh - I’ll extend the same offer to you, too. If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t be afraid to reach out. For my granddaughter’s teammates, I won’t hesitate to do all I can.”

The statement doesn’t register as a lie to my lie detector. I don’t have a baseline for him, but measuring against the human norm, he’s telling the truth. Why? What would motivate him to make such an offer? From the way he’s talking, and from the bodyguards following behind him, it’s obvious that any favour from him would be backed by not-inconsequential resources.

He turns to leave, bidding a cheery goodbye to Lillie. His men follow him, resuming their position beside him as he walks out of the park.

Once he’s gone, Lillie snatches up the cards with a growl, shoving them into her coat - but not before I get a good look at them. A name, a scroll contact number, and an address. ‘Cold Cold-Waterman’ - who on Earth would name their child something like that? Across the face of the card is a stylised insignia, shaped like a glacier.

“Don’t listen to a word he said. You really don’t want to get involved - he’s bad news.” All of Lillie’s earlier cheer has evaporated. There’s an edge to her voice that I haven’t heard before. “Please. Just forget you saw him - I’ll be calling my family later. They’ll know what to do.”

She wants us to just forget about that? For good or ill, Cold-Waterman knows how to make an impression - he’s got a sort of easy charisma most people lack. 

Al asks the question on my tongue for me. “Who was that? Other than your grandfather, that is?”

She sighs. Grimacing. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Can we just… drop it?”

Across our personal link, I ask Dragon. “You got anything? Who was that Cold-Waterman guy?”

She hums. “Nothing in our database. If he did something newsworthy, it’s possible it was long enough ago that it didn’t make it onto the network.”

“He acted like he’s wealthy - a business magnate, maybe? A retired one? The card didn’t have a business name.”

“That was my first thought. Whatever the case, Lillie doesn’t want to talk about it. I think we should let it be for the time being, at least.”

I nod, speaking out loud rather than over our private link. “Alright. We’ll leave it be for now. So...” I grasp for another topic. “Do you think we all passed?”


	10. Tattered Capes 10

“Team Cobalt - come in. I won’t keep you long.” We’ve been summoned to General Ironwood’s offices. This meeting is about our exams, apparently. The General waves us inside, moving behind his desk.

The room is austere. Apart from the bare desk, the only furniture in the room are bookshelves set into the wall, each mostly empty of books. He doesn’t have a terminal I can see, there’s no paperwork in sight, nor is there any other seating. Does he even work in this room? Or is it just a place for him to meet privately with students?

He takes a seat, folding his hands on the desk. “The teaching staff have finished reviewing the recordings of your first combat exams. I’m happy to let you know that all of you have exceeded our first-year standard.”

He continues. “Further, I’d like to pass on some feedback. You each may have won your bouts, but each of you have room for improvement. Miss Richter, Mr Wallis - your performances were both exemplary, however, our team is in agreement that you would have been better served fighting together from the very beginning, rather than separately.”

I suppose that might be true from his perspective - but our display at the end of the fight simply wasn’t possible without our combat prediction software. We’re by no means unused to fighting together, but I don’t think the General is correct in this case.

He makes a dismissive gesture, flipping his hand. “It’s only a small criticism - you both fought alone very well. Team Winter was caught completely off-guard by the capabilities of your armour.” He looks like he has more to say on that topic, but he catches himself, leaving it at that.

Dragon nods, accepting the criticism. “We’ll take that on board - thank you, General.”

“The only other concern we had was how your style would fare against more acrobatic opponents. The two of you are both particularly grounded in how you fight - if you haven’t already, I would suggest you consider how you would deal with such a matchup.”

Acrobatic opponents? Perhaps it’s a fair point - Mover powers are often more difficult to deal with than Brute or Blaster powers. Still, we’re by no means unprepared.

He turns, facing Al and Lillie. “I’ll be blunt. While the two of you were both impressive, it’s clear that neither of you have the experience that Miss Richter and Mr Wallis possess. Miss Coldwater - am I right in saying that carrying multiple revolvers is new to you?”

She nods. “That’s correct, sir.”

“I thought as much.” He dips his head, mouth twisting into a frown for a moment. “Your thought process behind the decision is fairly obvious - more guns means more dust rounds loaded means more water for your semblance to use. There is an issue, however - the small-calibre revolvers you use are relatively unfit for the purpose - you’d have much better results with something like a Heavy Pistol. If you’re open to recommendations, I would suggest you consult your teammates for help designing something more suitable - I believe they would be more than up for the task.”

Al nods along, clearly already having ideas. I’m not so eager - putting Tinkertech into Lillie’s hands may not be a wise idea. Lillie worries her lip, clearly conflicted. “I’ll… give it some thought, sir.”

“Mr Blackburn. I’ve no criticisms of your style or weapon - you’re the most conventional fighter on your team. You have some small technical issues, but those will be solved with more practice and experience - keep working at it, you’re on the right track.”

Al accepts the comment wordlessly, perhaps looking a little chuffed that Ironwood had no concerns about his style or weapon. I’m not so sure he should be taking that as a compliment - conventionality only gets you so far, and can leave you rather predictable. Unconventionality, on the other hand has value in and of itself.

“Now, since you’ve all cleared the first year combat standard and are most of the way through the rest of the first year classes, we’re ready to clear you for provisional huntsmen work at the first and second-year level. You’ll be accompanied by either a Professor or a final-year huntsmen team, but we’re ready to begin assigning you missions. Expect to receive notice sometime in the next week.”

Al and Lillie are both clearly excited at the prospect - it’s a significant milestone, I guess. Lillie lets out only a quiet exclamation, barely managing to reign herself in, while Al simply has a satisfied smile.

“That’s all I have to say on the topic of your exams. Mr Blackburn, Miss Coldwater - you’re dismissed. There’s a few matters I’d like to discuss with Miss Richter and Mr Wallis.”

Al and Lillie are taken aback - the question on their faces clear. What does he want to speak to us about?

Over our private channel, Dragon makes a comment. “We’re about to hear a recruitment pitch, aren’t we?”

“Seems likely.” Atlas is the technology capital of this world - and it didn’t get that way without the work of the Atlesean Military’s Research and Development department. Said department is well-known to be a pet project of General Ironwood - he’s clearly been impressed by our technology. We’re being headhunted.

Our teammates amble out of the room, reluctant to leave. As the door closes behind them, Dragon raises an eyebrow, saying nothing. 

Ironwood raps the neatly-cut fingernails of his right hand against the surface of the desk - a nervous tic? He must be anxious about whether his offer will be well-received. The silence stands for a few more moments, before the General breaks it. “I’d like to extend a standing offer to the two of you.”

Dragon and I stay quiet, letting the sentence hang.

“If you were to approach Atlas Research and Development with a formal pitch for an armour development project, the video of your fight against Team Winter would be enough for me to greenlight a project with the two of you at the head and secure for you facilities, personnel and a starting budget of forty-million Lien.”

He’s telling the truth - at least measuring against human baseline. Just like that, forty-million? That’s the sort of money that can get things done. We don’t really have a great comparison to the US Dollar, but a year’s rent for our home in Atlas isn’t more than twenty-five grand. We’re pretty much uncredentialed nobodies who walked in off the street, but he’d be willing to get us that much money?

It’s no wonder Atlas is the technological capital of the world - if he’s giving that sort of money to anybody who he thinks can get him results, he’s certain to get results.

We stay quiet, letting the General sweat. It’s human nature to hate silences - simply saying nothing is a negotiation technique as old as time.

“What do you think?” Dragon asks over our channel, her face remaining outwardly impassive.

I also do my best impression of a statue, keeping my thoughts from showing. “Well, we know who we should talk to if we ever want government backing. He said it was a standing offer - for now, we should just let it stand. Give it some thought and come back to him if we ever need to.”

“I had a similar idea.” Dragon moves to thank Ironwood for his offer, but the man beats her to the punch, unable to let the silence stand any longer.

“Look - one of our labs is doing a private project exhibition to members of the Atlesean Council, Military and civilian industry in a few weeks time. I’d be happy to add the two of you to the guest list. You’ll get to have a look at the sort of resources you’d have at your disposal, and I can introduce you to some of our project leaders so you can get a firsthand account about what working for Atlas Research and Development is like.”

I give Dragon a glance. That sounds rather appealing, actually - I’d like to find out what working for Ironwood would entail, should we ever need his money. She cocks her head, raising an eyebrow - it’s my call, then.

I turn back to Ironwood. “At this point in time, we’re ambivalent towards the idea of working for Atlesean Research and Development.” Ironwood seems to have expected the reluctance from us - he remains still, posture unchanging. I continue, “But, we’re not against the idea completely. We’ll attend the exhibition - if we like what we see, our position may change in the future.”

Perfectly noncommittal, and completely diplomatic - we haven’t declined his offer, but neither have we agreed to anything.

Any hint of apprehension flees him as he smiles charmingly. It’s not like the forced charisma we’d seen during his presentation at the school induction - this is genuine. “Wonderful! I’ll be sure to pass along the details.” He puffs up, proud. “I’m certain you’ll like what you’ll see - here in Atlas, our laboratories are the best in the world. I can guarantee that you won’t find better anywhere in Remnant.”

The best in this world, perhaps - but not forever. Once Dragon and I secure the resources to build our own lab, they’ll hold that title no longer. Or, perhaps they will, if we end up using Ironwood to build them.

Really, we’re being handed a golden opportunity on a silver platter here - so long as the strings that are no doubt attached don’t prove to be too onerous or dubious, there’s precious little I have to object to. Filling Ironwood in about our origins may even be in the cards - I’ll want a better handle on his character, first, but his backing is one heck of an incentive to come clean.

There’s no rush, though - Dragon and I can take the time and carefully think things over before we commit to anything.

Ironwood thanks us for our time, seeing us out of his office. “It was good to meet the two of you - I’m looking forward to showing you around our labs.” Again, he’s being honest - if nothing else, Ironwood’s clearly invested in these research projects of his.

Outside the office, Lillie and Al have stuck around. The doors are soundproofed - they hadn't heard anything - but the curiosity in their expressions is impossible to miss.

We move off, calling the elevator to take back down to the ground floor. Ironwood stayed back in his office.

"Well?" Al prompts. "What was that all about?" His tone isn't hostile, but there's certainly a bit of an edge to it.

Lillie shakes her head at him. "Leave it be, Al. They'll tell us if they want us to know."

I wave her off - "No, it's fine. The General was just wanting to offer us positions in Atlas Research and Development."

"Atlas R-and-D? You're for real?" He's awestruck - apparently he holds the department in high regard. "What, as Mechanical specialists or something?"

I shrug. "Project heads. He said he'd greenlight us if we pitched the department our armour."

Al makes a strangled noise, biting off an exclamation. "When are you leaving the team, then?"

"We aren't sure that we're going to take up his offer yet. We may end up finishing our course before we decide."

"What?! Are you out of your mind?" Al looks at me like I’ve grown a second head - like he can't believe what I’m saying. He raises his voice. "People would kill for the sort of position you're talking about - and what, you're going to just leave it on the table!?"

"Al! Get a grip." Lillie whacks his arm. "Honestly. Maybe they'd rather be Hunstmen than researchers?"

I get the impression Al isn't far off from being one of the people who'd kill for that offer. I can understand why it might appeal, truly, but I'm far more tepid about the whole thing.

Dragon cuts in. "Look - we just aren't sure that working for the Atlas Military is the path for us. Besides - we've got plenty of time to think it over. The General invited us out to a project exhibition in a few weeks. No doubt he'll be painting the department in the best light to try to reel us in."

"Fine." Al grumbles, but lets it drop. "I still think you're crazy for not jumping at the chance, though."


End file.
